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ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
A ROMANCE OF FACT

Alaska Man's Luck
A ROMANCE OF FACT

BY
HJALMAR RUTZEBECK

BONI AND LIVERIGHT
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Copyright, 1920, by
BONI & LIVERIGHT, Inc.

Printed in the United States of America

TO MY WIFE

A LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR BY
WAY OF PREFACE
I am writing you in regard to my book which was sent to
you from Chicago by Miss 'Massee of the American Library
Association and Frank E. Wolfe. I must tell you that the
story as related in the manuscript is true and that I actually
lived the story and married the girl. The description of the
country is as I have seen it, and the life as I have lived it.
I realize that it is written in an unusual style and that the
construction is very simple. Sometimes I had fears that
it would not be published at all, but every one who has heard
it has liked it and praised it, and after all I thought perhaps
it might go.
I was born and raised in Denmark, where I left school
when I was 12, determined to become an author. Although
I have not gone to school since I have become an American
citizen, I have picked up not only the English language
but much other knowledge. For, after all, life is a great
school itself. It is only in the last five years that I have
tried to write, and during that time have been hampered
greatly by having to make a living for myself and my family,
except the one year when I was in jail. You will readily see
that I still have a great deal to learn, and, perhaps, you will be
tolerant of my shortcomings. I am in a very humble mood
right now, writing here from Viking's Cove, Haines, Alaska,
where I have made our home. Maybe you will tell me
where my story is faulty. Generally, I am quite conceited,
but now in my humble moments, I accomplish my best work.
Please write to me soon. People have laughed at me and
held me up to ridicule and said that I am crazy to think
that I can get my first book published, but my friends who

viii PREFACE
have sent you my manuscript say that this hope of mine
which I mention is only the same ambition that has in
spired other people to big things.
Again I ask, please write soon. Sometimes mail makes
connection all the way through and reaches here in about a
week from California. It often takes a much longer time.
Our post offices up here are really a joke part of the time;
e.g., on Sunday evening when I came into town and wanted
to get my mail, the hardware store, where the postoffice is,
was closed. I went to the Postmaster's house. He was
just about to eat his supper and didn't care to walk a block
or so to the store, so he gave me the key and sent me down
to get my own mail.
Maybe if you publish my book, you will come up here to
see us. Alaska is such a beautiful green land in the summer,
in spite of the terrible winters. The climate is about the
same as that of the Scandinavian countries and there is no
reason to doubt that Alaska will be as thickly populated as
those countries some day. If you city people only knew
about it, there would be a stampede to the thousands of
miles of land, timber, mining and rich fishing that we have
up here.
My next books about Alaska will tell about the mining.
But here I am, running on, when at the bottom of my heart
fear grips me and my hand shakes a little as I write, be
cause I can't help thinking that possibly you will say my
book is not good enough.
You must be busy, so I shall say good-by. I wait here
patiently at my homestead beside the lake until Uncle Sam
lets me hear from you. Yours respectfully,
HjALMAR RUTZEBECK.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Girl  i
II Beating My Way North  4
III A Logging Duel  10
IV The Last Lap — Alaska ........ 20
V Prospecting — a Stampede  25
VI A Poor Pardner  36
VII Sheep Hunting  46
VIII Down to My Last Cent  55
IX A False Move  62
X Across the Glacier  78
XI Indian Friends  97
XII In Jail Again and Out  122
XIII One More Attempt at Freedom  133
XIV Federal Prison, Juneau  157
XV My Trial — John Puts It Over  171
XVI Serving My Term  177
XVII A Cave-down in the Mine  198
XVIII My Claim on Viking's Cove  210
XIX A Small Fortune in Salmon Fishing . . . 225
XX Lonely in Skagway — the Phrenologist Re
stores My Pride  233
XXI Building My Cabin by Odin's Lake . . . 247
XXII The Girl Again  252

IX

ALASKA MAN'S LUCK

ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
CHAPTER I
THE GIRL.
I DISCONTINUED my diary when I entered the army,
but now I again feel the urgent need to write down
what I am thinking and feeling and doing. I must
say it and I do not want to halt some stranger on the street
and pour my tale of joy into his ears. For I have met the
girl ; — I had always known that her eyes would be like that,
blue-gray, kind eyes, gentle eyes, compassionate eyes. I had
rather supposed that her hair would be dark, but I like it
just as well the way it is, brown with something golden
about it. And she has the healthiest color I ever saw; all
creamy and pink and clean, oh, very clean. She is big for
a girl, tall and broad and deep chested, and somehow she
makes you feel that she has hidden within her great un
touched stores of vitality. She is very Norsk, fit mate for
me, who am a Dane, a Viking, come to this new world to
seek a mate and make a home.
Of course there have been other girls, and I thought I
was in love with each of them, but this one is different from
any of the rest. She is big enough, and healthy enough,
and she is sweet and pure and intelligent. But the thing
that impresses me most is the way she looks at one, just the
friendliest kind of way that makes you feel warm and com
fortable in her presence.
I met her in the library of the Y. P. S. L. in Los An
geles, on the eve of a dance. A girl friend brought her in

2 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
and introduced us, telling me that she had come for the
dance. Of course, I took her hint and asked the girl for
the first, third and fifth, but she evidently thought I was too
bold, for she would only promise me the first one, and then
went away with the other girls. I was quite impressed.
That evening went by very swiftly.
I took her and my friend, Martha, home and I told them
of the north. And what do you think ! She — Marian her
name is — said that it had been the dream of her life to go
to Alaska. I was so happy that my imagination ran away
with me. I told them I was going back up there to make
my home, and I described just the kind of a place I was
going to have. There is a little trout lake up in the woods,
on the Chilkat peninsula, and I imagined a comfortable
cabin built on the brink of the lake, the little valley up there
cleared and made into pastures, and turnip patches with
cows grazing round about. I told them of the peace and
the stillness of the north, and of the greatness and the mag
nificence of the mountains, and there came a longing look
into that girl's eyes. She saw it all as I described it, and
she wanted to be there. I wonder if the little lake and the
valley around it wouldn't make a nice farm, once the land
were cleared. It looked awfully good the way I imagined
it and I think I'd better take a look at it when I get back
up there.
I asked her to go to the movies with me the next eve
ning and what did we see but pictures of the northland !
On the way home I again told her of that country and I
could tell by the way she looked that she wanted to go
there. If she'll ever want to go there with me I shall be a
happy man.
Then last night I went with her to a party, and on the
way home I told her that I loved her, and that to-morrow I
would start for the north, either to make a stake and come
down to make my home here, or to make my home up
there, and I asked her if she would come when I had the

THE GIRL 3
cabin built, or marry me when I came back down with a
stake. She said she didn't know — she had only known me a few
days, and although she liked me, and had always hoped
some day to go north — she asked for time. She would be
friends with me.
I told her that I intended to start the next day, and that
I hadn't much money, but would beat my way to Seattle.
I asked her if she would correspond with me, and she said
she would, and gave me her ring, which barely fits my little
finger, as a token of friendship. I gave her my match safe
for her talisman — one that has practically saved my life
several times out in the cold, wet woods.

CHAPTER II
beating my way north
Santa Barbara, Cal.
Feb. 14, 1914.
I HAVE started on my way north. I put on two suits of
underwear, my blue serge suit, with a suit of overalls
over the top of it all. I put a sniall towel, a piece of
Ivory soap, my comb, and brush, and my shaving gear in
my pocket, and sewed what money I had in my clothes in
various inconspicuous places. I was then ready for any
thing, and already I have had one small adventure.
I came to Burbank on the Pacific Electric car line (paid
my way) in the early morning yesterday. I purchased my
breakfast at a baker's shop, and wandered down to the
Southern Pacific Railroad track, looking for a quiet place
to eat it. In a grassy nook by a railroad bridge I sat down
and ate my cookies and doughnuts, and had just finished
when there came a fellow in a buggy driving in among the
bushes. He said he was a constable and yelled at me to
get out of there. He was very funny, so highly angry at
nothing at all. Perhaps I was a bit impudent. At any
rate he flourished a revolver around a good deal and then
drove off furiously, to get a warrant, he said. Since I
didn't care about wasting any time in Burbank, I walked
out past the city limits, and hopped a passing truck.
I rode a long way with it till late in the night, when it
stopped at a pretty good sized town. I got off, and as I
saw a train pulling into the station a few blocks away, I
ran over there, sneaked close to the train, crawled up onto
the baggage car, and rode out with it. I arrived here in
4

BEATING MY WAY NORTH 5
Santa Barbara this morning, having completed the first lap
of my journey to the north.

San Luis Obispo, Cal.
Feb. 15, 1914.
I haven't progressed much, but I am nearer the north
than I was yesterday, and that is at least something. I am
sitting in a box car waiting for the next train to the North.
In Santa Barbara yesterday I waited for the "Lark."
When she came rumbling in at 10.39 I was hiding behind
a pile of sand ready to make a rush for her when she
started. As soon as she came in six men with flash lights
came around, and searched the train all over. They were
detectives or police I believe, for they found two men on
top of the baggage car and took them away with them, to
jail, I suppose. I almost decided to sneak off and give up
the attempt to ride her, but I thought I might as well take
a chance to-day as to-morrow, so I waited. Some of the
officers passed very close to me several times, but it was
dark and I lay as still as a log so that they did not see me.
The train started and I made a dash for the locomotive.
Nobody saw me. I climbed up on the water tank and
crouched close to it to keep from being seen. It was thrill
ing to fool the police that way, and although it was cold
and began to rain, there was real joy in beating the fast
passenger and mail train. Yet I did not feel quite at ease
for I was breaking the law, and if I were caught would be
put in jail, considered a criminal by society. Well, I will
try not to get caught.
It rained pretty hard, and when I came to San Luis
Obispo I got off and found an empty box car, slept a while,
and here I am.

Richmond, Cal.
Feb. 18, 1914.
I had a good night's rest in San Jose and yesterday
morning I hurried down to catch the 8:35. It started out

6 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
as I was turning the corner of the station and I made a
dash for it. A railroad bull, (that's what the hobos call
them) was on the first blind baggage car, watching to see
that no hobos got on board, but I jumped upon the
second baggage car and crawled up on top before he
had time to see me. There I lay until the train got into
San Francisco. Outside of the yards she slowed down a
bit and I jumped off, and walked straight down to the ferry
building, eating a dozen doughnuts on the way. I paid my
way to Oakland and rode all the way to the Sixteenth
street station, waiting around there until a train pulled out
going north. I ran for the locomotive but a bull sprang
out from between the cars where he had been hiding and
grabbed me by the arm.
I was arrested!
When a man is arrested he feels as I imagine a bird feels
when it has just been caught. I was keenly on the alert for
a chance to escape, and I glanced desperately to right and
left, my mind busily groping for some way out of the grasp
of the heavy hand that held me imprisoned and the terrible
authority that it represented, the law that I had broken.
The bull evidently meant business for he led me toward
the station without saying a word, and his sinister, busi
ness-like manner froze me to the marrow. I couldn't
afford to be put in jail and in my desperation I decided
to break away. As we went around the corner of the sta
tion building, I broke away from him andVan up Sixteenth
street with him after me. He was not as fast as I was and
I soon put some distance between us.
"Halt !" he yelled. "Halt!"
I ran on, and bang! went his gun. I swerved instinc
tively and began to zigzag this way and that as I ran up
the street. Bang! bang! went his gun again and a bullet
buried itself in the building I was passing. Bang! bang!
bang! he shot again and I jumped over a fence and ran
across a back yard, nearly stepping on a big dog that ran
yelping away under a shed. Over another fence I flew and

BEATING MY WAY NORTH 7
into a garden where two ladies sat in rocking chairs on a
lawn. There was quite a commotion, what with the dog's
yelping and my breaking through the bushes. As I passed
by them I saw one of them go over backwards, chair and
all, and the last glimpse I got was of a pair of legs sticking
straight up. I got rid of that bull all right, and after dodg
ing through a few back yards I took a street car and rode
to Richmond where I found a nice, little station right handy
for a hobo to make a train from.
I am getting pretty wary of bulls, policemen and train
crews. I feel as if I had committed a crime and were in
hiding. I try not to be seen by any one, keeping behind lines
of box cars and warehouses whenever I can. I suppose I
am committing a crime and I am sure I would get a jail
sentence if I were caught.

Sacramento, Cal.
Feb. 19, 1914.
I have progressed again, though rather slowly. One
can't travel very fast when there are so many large towns
where one has to get off and run and sneak and hide to
keep from getting pinched.
I rode to Sacramento on a baggage car where there were
some nice rods to lie on. Here I had to run for it, for as
soon as I got out from under the car I heard some one yell,
"Hey, you! what are you doing there?" I ran and thought
I saw some one running after me, so I sped up, dove under
a car to the other side and, mingling with the crowd, walked
leisurely out of the depot and up town.
I stopped at the corner of a street and tried to decide
what to do. Should I go back and try to make a train out,
or get a room, a bath and a good rest? I was cold and wet
to the skin and my teeth were chattering.
An old man came up to me and said, "Pretty wet,
ain't it?"
"Yes," said I, "pretty wet."
"Where are you going?" he asked.

8 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
"I don't know yet. I am a stranger here, just came in
on the train."
"Here," he said, "I'll give you a tip. Down on K street
there is a saloon that stays open all night and there is about
two hundred men sleeps there every night, but you'd better
go early if you want to get room on the floor."
I thanked him for the information and made up my
mind to go down there later on to see what the place was
like. First, however, I went to a cheap hotel and got a
room. The clerk in the office looked hard at me, and no
wonder, for I surely looked seedy, just come from under
a train all black and grimy. But I wasn't too bad for a
two-bit room and I got my overalls off and went to the
bathroom and had a thorough cleaning and then I hurried
down to get my supper. I had not eaten all day and to
say that I enjoyed that meal would not half tell it. Then
I took in a five cent show and after that I went down to K
street and found the saloon the old timer had told about. I
rolled in, hands in my pockets with my shoulders hunched,
trying to look as down and out as possible. The first thing
I met was a sickly, nauseating smell of stale liquor. Then
I saw a crowd of men lined up against the bar, four deep.
Most of them were drunk and there was an awful noise,
singing, swearing, and loud, drunken talk and laughter.
The light was poor and I could hardly distinguish the fea
tures of the men. I didn't see anybody sleeping on the
floor but there was a door to another room, and in there I
went. It was dark and there was a horrible smell. I sat
down near the door and waited till my eyes were used to
the dark, and then I saw ! Men lay there, and some women,
huddled on the floor like pigs in a pen, sleeping on the dirty,
damp, stinking floor. Some of them were groaning, some
were snoring, and one old man near me had the hiccoughs
so badly that his whole ragged body jumped in a way that
made my flesh creep.
This, then, is the bottom of the pit, as Jack London called
it! I noticed that most of the men looked old and worn

BEATING MY WAY NORTH 9
and had gray or white hair. This, then, is the end of the
journey of the working stiff. After a life of work, going
from place to place, ever slaving in camps and factories, in
cities and on farms, to be thrown on the scrap heap of so
ciety. And what a scrap heap! I prefer the bullet which
man gives to an old, worn out horse. It would be a more
merciful death than this low life in the slime.
I couldn't stand it very long in there and was glad to get
out into the none too fresh air of the streets. Ah, for the
north with its sweet, cool, balmy air!
I dreamed of the pit, of policemen and jails, and I had
a poor night of it, but I have learned one lesson and that is
to keep out of the pit.

Wheatland, Cal.
Feb. 20, 1 91 4.
It seems that the farther I go from Marian, the more
she is in my thoughts. Ever since I was in Sacramento
and saw the poor wretches there in that hole, I have been
wondering what is to< become of me and if I will wind up
in the pit like the others. What can keep me out of it?
To marry and settle down would be the safest way. To
settle down without marrying would not do for me, for I
would soon get lonesome and want to go somewhere else.
Marian must come and be my mate in the home I shall
build. But I am drifting farther and farther away from
her all the time. There are many other men in the world
who will want her and my measly letter once or twice a
week -is hardly enough to keep her interest in me alive.
I think I will pull the leaves out of my diary as I go along
and send them to her, that she may see the things I see
and thus know me better.

CHAPTER III
A LOGGING DUEL Dunsmuir, Cal.
Feb. 22, 1914.
I MADE a passenger train from Wheatland to Redding
and another one out of Redding, riding on the blind.
It was a pretty cold trip with rain and snow and the
wind beating against me. I am glad that I have lots of
clothes on, for I am up in the mountains now, and it is
snowing, real snow like that we have in Alaska. I went
into a saloon and sat down by a great big heater. Pretty
soon my head began to nod, for I haven't caught that much
needed sleep yet. No sooner had I dozed off than the bar
tender came and shook me up. He pointed to a sign over
the door which read, 'Hobos get warm and get out. This
means you."
I was very nice and warm but I wasn't ready to get out
so I went over to the bar and ordered a glass of buttermilk.
The bartender grinned sheepishly, and I went back to> my
chair and nodded away. Having spent my nickel I was a
customer and not a hobo.
I am very anxious to reach Portland where I will get a
letter from her and learn if she cares to keep hearing from
me. If she cares, I shall certainly keep it up, for the fact
that she is reading this diary and following me on my way,
gives me added zest to write.

Roseburg, Ore.
Feb. 23, 1914.
I am not in the same state with Marian any longer and a
high mountain range lies between us. Still she is very near
to me.

10

A LOGGING DUEL u
I rode the whole division from Dunsmuir to Ashland on
the water tank of the locomotive of the Shasta Limited. It
was very cold going over the mountains and, as my clothes
had not had quite time to dry out at Dunsmuir, they froze
as stiff as a board, and I think that helped a good deal to
keep out the cold wind. I was very sleepy and fell asleep
there on the tank several times. I was standing up on the
side of it and had my arm around the hand rail and my
hand in my pocket making a sort of lock, and part of the
time I was frozen to the tank so there wasn't much danger
of falling off. Once, however, I woke up suddenly when
the train crossed a deep gulch and it nearly scared the wits
out of me. I had a sensation of falling, falling, and it was
quite a while before I could pull myself together and see
things in the right perspective.
I promised myself a good night's rest when I got across
the mountains and I mean to have it before I leave here.

Disston, Ore.
Feb. 26, 1914.
I rode on the rods from Roseburg, intending to ride all
the way to Eugene, but I became tired and hungry and got
off at Cottage Grove. I am down to my last fifty dollars,
which is sewed in my undershirt. It is in gold and repre
sents my fare from Seattle to Haines. Also, it is my emer
gency fund in case I should get sick or arrested. I didn't
like to break it so hunted around until I found a house
where I could chop wood for a meal.
I chopped for half an hour or so, and was then called in
to supper. They were very pleasant people, Dr. Kline, his
wife and daughter, and they treated me very cordially.
After the meal the doctor asked me if I would go to work
if I could get a job thereabouts.
It is still pretty early to start for the north and I had
figured on doing a few days' work in Seattle before leaving
but I would just as soon work now as then, so I told him
that I was willing to do anything.

12 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
"All right," he said, "I'll try to get you a job." He went
to the telephone and called some one up. "Can you buck
logs?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Yes." "All right," he said, hanging up the receiver, "you've
got a job."
He insisted on lending me two dollars to pay for my bed
and for the ride to Disston where this camp is, and I have
already worked one-half day. Bucking logs is hard work
for a man who hasn't done anything for some time. The
army surely makes a man soft. I am afraid the other men
think that I am a dub, for I didn't accomplish much this
afternoon except to cut my hand on the saw and to develop
a great blister in my palm.

Disston, Ore.
Feb. 28, 1914.
To-day the boss came along and gave me a new job. I
had been bucking logs and had not been very good at it.
It is a long time since I have done any hard work, and
still longer since I have worked in the woods, so, although
I am willing enough, I am not a first class man at all. The
boss had kept an eye on me and this morning he told me
to go to work with Big Fred, the feller. I have been told
by some of the other men that nobody can work with Fred
for any length of time because he just wears a man out
and compels any one to quit who works with him. When
ever the boss wants to get rid of a man he sends him out
with Fred and if the man lasts a week he does well. How
ever, I am going to try to stick it out. I used to be a fairly
good worker, and my three years in the army have given
me lots of reserve strength if they have made me soft.
We worked to-day, Fred and I, and felled six large trees,
each one over six feet in diameter. It was backbreaking
work for me, because I am not used to it, but one thing
cheered me up. After we had felled a big pitchy fir this
afternoon in which the saw pulled hard, making us slave

A LOGGING DUEL 13
like niggers to get it down, I was so exhausted that I could
hardly stand up but I noticed that Fred was pretty tired,
too. The best of it was that I was rested before he was
and ready to tackle the next tree. Maybe it is because I am
younger and can recuperate faster, I don't know, but I do
know that I was much more exhausted than Fred was when
we went to the camp at quitting time, and had I not seen
him so tired there in the woods once, I would have quit
this evening and gone on my way. I feel now as if I were
playing a game and that it would be an act of cowardice to'
quit. It is a month before I can do anything up north and
I have hopes of putting it in here at four dollars a day.

Disston, Ore.
March 3, 1914.
Several days have passed and I haven't written anything
in my diary. I believe that Fred has divined my intention
to stay on the job in spite of him and his driving. He has
done his best or his worst, rather, to discourage me and to
work me to death. He never lets up from the time we go
to work till the time we go to lunch or back to the camp
at night. He is determined to wear me out and I am not
sure that he will not succeed. Nevertheless, I am going to
give him a run for his money, for though I am sore all over
and almost dead with fatigue every night, I notice that he
is not feeling his best, either, and it is now a matter of
which will give up first.
Fred is a peculiar man. He is larger than I and about
ten years older, I should judge, being about thirty-five. He
has dark brown hair and flashing black eyes and his should
ers are slightly stooped, from bending over a saw all his
life, I suppose. I don't think he likes me for, although we
work all alone way out in the woods, he only speaks
to tell me something to do. We fell a tree and then we
pick up the tools and begin to fell another one right away,
and so on all day long. We felled eighteen trees to-day and
I was so tired that I could hardly eat my supper. I am too

14 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
sore in the back and arms to rest well and my hands are
full of cuts from the saw and blisters from the ax handle.
The other men don't speak to me. I suppose they have
contempt for such a worthless fellow. I feel kind of lone
some and I doubt if I'll have the guts to stay here very
much longer.

Disston, Ore.
March 6, 1914.
I received three letters from Portland to-day. I am one
of the happiest men in the world, for two of them are from
Marian, and she likes my diary and hopes I will continue
to send it to her as I go along. Oh, Marian, you cannot
imagine how happy I am!
I had decided to quit in the morning as I was nearly worn
out and couldn't see the use of slaving on just because that
other fool was crazy enough to try to kill himself, but I
am not going to quit now. I am inspired with new strength
and determination and I am going to finish my month here
and it is not going to kill me, either.
Big Fred brought a new sledge hammer to-day instead
of the old one. It is a fourteen pounder! The old one
weighed eight pounds and was quite heavy enough to pack
around in the woods, besides the two long felling wedges,
a saw and the springboard. The darned hammer is so
heavy that I can't strike right with it and to-day, when we
had to wedge a big tree over, I had a dickens of a time of it.
I pounded and pounded, hitting the tree more than half
the time instead of the wedge while Fred stood by and said,
"Hit it! hit it! why don't you hit it?"
Finally I got so mad at my own inability and at him that
I stopped and glared so fiercely at him that he stopped
sneering and said, "Let me give you a spell, Svend."
It was the first kind word he had spoken to me and I
ought to have stepped back and let him do it but I was stub
born and angry and merely scowled at him, beginning to

A LOGGING DUEL 15
pound again, saying, "That's all right, you handle your end
of it and I'll take care of mine all right."
I was mad all day and just worked like the devil, swear
ing at everything that got in my way, making hard work of
some things that would have been easy, had I not "taken
the bull by the wrong tail," as Dutch says. By night time
I was so worn out that I could hardly drag myself in and
I was going to quit my job to-morrow morning but now
I am so cheered up that I can stick it out.

Disston, Ore.
March 9, 1914.
Received another letter from Marian to-day and I have
been lifted to the heights of happiness. Her letters are like
wine to my soul. They fill me with warmth. I am going to
save them and take them with me wherever I go.
On the job I am getting along better every day, although
my relations with my partner are not a bit better than they
were. He has no use for me at all and we work together
all day long without saying a word. I know what to do
now and there's no need for him to tell me, so we just go
along from tree to tree and, because I am stubborn and he
is mean, we make the work as hard for each other as pos
sible. He rides his end. of the saw, that is, he holds it tight
to the cut, making it pull harder, and I in retaliation, ride
my end. We never stop to think or rest. As soon as we
send a tree crashing to the ground, he picks up his spring
board and the two axes and starts for the next one, and I
take the saw and the rest of the tools and follow, and so
it goes all day long.
I am getting to be a better chopper and can hit twice or
three times in the same cut at times.
When the boss came out to-day and saw all the work we
had done, he looked with interest at me and said to Fred,
"He's not so bad after all, is he?"
But Fred looked over to a large tree and said, "We'll
need a ten foot saw for that one."

1 6 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
I picked up my ax and continued chopping the under cut
we had been working on when the boss came and I kept
on chopping all the time he was talking to Fred. I noticed
that he watched me and I did my best not to fall in his opin
ion. I am happy for I think that I have passed the crisis
and I am sure I'll get stronger from now on and be able to
do my work better and better. If I could only become as
good a logger as Fred I should be proud of myself, for he
surely is an expert. Even if he doesn't like me, I have to
admit that. The other men are beginning to be more
friendly toward me and all in all I am getting along all
right.

Disston, Ore.
March 15, 1914-
Six days have gone by and I have not written at all.
When nothing happens and a man slaves from daylight till
dark, it is not easy to write at night. But to-day I received
a long letter from her in which she told me of her school
work and it made me so happy that I had to write her a
long letter and do my diary besides.
We have been working like beasts, Fred and I, and I am
getting more and more efficient. I was pretty soft at first,
but my muscles are hardening and I grow stronger every
day. I can now chop quite well and do almost half the
work when we chop an undercut. Fred has been trying
his best this last week to wear me out and with every day
that goes by he gets more ugly and scowls at me and swears
the whole day long.
To-day we had a tree that was full of pitch. The pitch
fairly poured out of the cut while we sawed. We cut it
very close to the ground and I had a good place to stand
while Fred had to stand in a difficult and tiresome position.
The saw pulled hard and it was all we could do to work it
but Fred, nevertheless, kept on like a mad man, sawing,
cursing and swearing. He had been drinking the night
before and I could smell the whiskey sweating out of him

A LOGGING DUEL 17
and I think his being in a poor condition, angered him all
the more. He succeeded in making me angry so I set my
teeth determined to pull as long and as hard as he. When
the tree was about three quarters sawed off, his foot slipped
from the room on which he was standing, sprawling him on
the ground. I looked up impatiently to see what was the
matter and our eyes met squarely for the first time, I think,
since we have worked together.
"Look here," he said angrily but almost kindly, too,
"there's no need of your working so> hard. You're not get
ting any more for it, no matter how hard you work."
"That's all right," said I like the stubborn fool I am, for
I might have made matters all right by agreeing with him,
"I can stand it if you can. I am not complaining."
I took hold of my end of the saw ready to begin again
and with a scowl and an oath Fred grabbed his and we
went to work again as hard as possible. I am sorry now
that I didn't make up with him. It would have made if
easier for both of us. Besides, it is not pleasant to work
with an angry man, especially when he drinks.

Disston, Ore.
March 20, 1914.
I am really and honestly sorry that I did not make up
with Fred the other day when I had the chance. The man
is actually wearing himself out and I am to blame for it.
He goes to the saloon every night and gets drunk, hardly
ever reaching the camp till after midnight, then he works
like mad all day long. He doesn't speak to me at all but
just goes determinedly on.
The boss is worrying about it, too, and to-day he said
to Fred that we were doing too much and were getting too
far ahead of the buckers.
"You're working yourselves out of a job," he said, "take
it easy for a while."
But Fred only worked the harder after he had gone.
I really don't know what to do about it. Maybe I ought

18 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
to quit and thus remove the cause of his annoyance but
that would acknowledge myself defeated, and since the
men are all on to what we are doing and have laid bets on
us, I do not like the idea of having them think that Fred
has driven me off. I don't like to have Fred quit on ac
count of me, either. He is a first class logger and he has
worked here for several years.

Cottage Grove, Ore.
March 30, 1914.
I am on my way north again. My month was up and
things came to a climax in the logging camp. Fred kept
getting worse and worse. No man can stand boozing every
night and working hard every day. One thing had to give
way for the other and Fred's work had to give way to his
carousing. We did less and less work as Fred grew weaker
and weaker. He didn't lose any of his fierceness, though,
and he hated me just as cordially when he was sick as when
he was well. When we had a tree down, he would lie down
on the moss and sleep while I chopped the next undercut
or the springboard hole. As long as I was working he would
sleep on but when I stopped he'd soon wake up and come
to saw. Day before yesterday when we had felled a
large, eight foot spruce and had sawed the cut in the under
cut for the next one, Fred went to sleep while I chopped.
Before long I heard some one coming through the under
brush. It was the boss. I couldn't call to Fred, the boss
was too close but I hopped down from my springboard and
ran to where he lay.
"Hey, Fred," I said in a low voice, "the boss is coming."
He looked up dazedly. "I don't give a damn," he swore,
"keep your hands off of me."
The boss came up over the top of the log. "What's the
matter?" he as"ked, "sick?"
Fred sat up. "No, I'm not sick," he said. "I'm through.
I quit." He looked at me sullenly, lumbered to his feet and started

A LOGGING DUEL 19
for the camp, muttering something about damned tender-
feet. "I'll send another man out with you to-morrow," the boss
said to me. "I guess you can handle the job all right."
But I said that my time was up and that I was quitting
too. He said that was a great note and wanted to know
why I couldn't stay. He said that I was all right and could
handle the job of head feller all right and that he was short
of men, which same was a lie for I knew that he had plenty
and that there were men asking for work at the camp
every day. I told him that I was on my way north and
had only intended to stay a month and my time was up.
Fred was rolling his blanket roll when I came into the
bunk house. He looked up in surprise when he saw that I
was getting ready to go away too.
"Quitting?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of
him. "Yep," said I, "I've had enough for a while."
"Say," he said, coming over to me, "you're a hell of a
good worker."
I looked up and smiled. "Not so good a worker as you,"
I said. "If you'd left the booze alone, you'd have made me
quit a long time ago." He looked kind of foolish, so I
said, "but that's all right, Fred, it was a game and we
played it fair and square. I have no hard feelings if you
haven't." We shook hands and were friends. When he didn't
scowl he was quite a good-looking fellow, and I kind of
liked him anyway. We went to Cottage Grove together
and here I am now, waiting for a freight to pull out.

CHAPTER IV

THE LAST LAP — ALASKA

Albany, Ore.
April i, 1914.
I AM a little further north. I made a freight train out
of Cottage Grove and got as far as Junction City. An
electric car line runs from Junction City to Portland
and I walked over and looked around. I had never beaten
an electric car line and I thought it might be fun to try it.
There were a couple of freight cars about to pull out and
I sneaked down to the track to see if it were possible to ride
underneath one of them. I got in under the last car.
There were some rods that were quite comfortable to lie
on and I thought that I was fixed for a night's ride. The
cars started out and I got the surprise of my life. As soon
as they got speed up the rods I was lying on began to jump
up and down and swing sideways. It was all I could do to
hold on. They bumped me, Great Scott ! how they bumped
me up and down. My head especially was knocked against
the bottom of the car till I couldn't think at all. Talk about
torture ! The doggoned car shook me till I imagined my
insides were all tearing loose, and it didn't stop before it
reached Albany thirty miles away, with me nearly dead.
I am all in now. My neck is swollen as thick as my
head and I can hardly move it. I have bruises all over my
body and feel as though I had gone through a threshing
machine. No more riding on the rods of electric cars for
me, I swear it ! I had to get a room here and rest up.

Seattle, Wash.
April 4, 1914.
At last I am at the end of my hoboing trip. From now
20 ;

THE LAST LAP— ALASKA 21
on I will pay my way. I feel as if I had won a great battle.
With train crews, detectives and policemen all trying to
bar my way, I have broken through the barriers along the
hundreds of miles without any trouble to speak of and
now I am here in Seattle safe and free and sound except
for a few bruises that do not amount to anything.
Nothing happened that was very important from Albany
to Vancouver. I rode a passenger train out of Vancouver
on the rods. It had turned cold and there was a frost but
the cold felt good to me, for it was of the north, and though
it bit into my finger tips and ears, I enjoyed it. But that
kind of enjoyment can only last for a limited time and soon
I began to think of getting off at the next station, getting
inside of the train and paying my fare for the rest of the
way. Yet I stayed. Station after station passed, for I
figured that for every ten miles I stayed where I was I
made thirty cents. A few miles from Tacoma I crawled out
and from the way the brakeman looked at me, he thought
I had arrived from out of the earth. He gasped and was
going to grab me but I slipped away from him and dove into
one of the coaches with him after me.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded angrily when
he came to the chair where I had luxuriously seated my
self. "Well, what do you suppose?" I queried.
"You can't ride here," he said, then added, "unless you
pay." "What makes you say that?" I asked in mock surprise.
"Did you think I expected to ride free of charge?"
"You came from under the train."
"I came from the other side of the track," I corrected.
"Did you think I should have jumped over the train, in
stead?" "I'll get the conductor," he said and departed.
An old, hard faced conductor came and eyed me suspic
iously. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"Tacoma," I said, holding out a dollar.

22 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
"Where did you get on this train ?"
"At the last station. I work there," I lied.
"What's the name of the town?"
"Why, don't you know?" and I gave him a surprised
look. "Yes— but  "
"Well, why do you ask, then? What are you trying to
do, kid me ? Give me my change and let me alone. I want
to rest." I had to be rude to him for there is no telling
what he might have done, had I let him be sure that I was
a hobo. The bluff worked all right and he left me, saying
that he had made a mistake, and asked my pardon. I
smiled very politely to him and assured him that I knew
how it was, and that was the end of it.
In Tacoma I took the car to Seattle, where I got a room
in a good hotel, had a bath and a good night's sleep, and
am now in fine shape. To-morrow I sail for the northland
on the Mariposa. Hurrah!

On board the S. S. Mariposa.
April 6, 1914.
The north is coming to meet me. When I look back over
the years I have spent as a sailor, going from land to land
seeing the world in my early youth, and on the last three
years that I spent in the army where I learned to curb my
wildness and to stay in one place, I realize that I am ready
to seek the place for my home and to build it. It may take
some time, — Rome wasn't built in a day — but while I am
building, I shall be happy in the knowledge of the web of
love and comfort that I am spinning around her and me.
The sweet, clean air tells me that she will come some day
to breathe it with me. Ah, Marian! this is a beautiful
world ! I am sailing through clear, blue, deep fiords lined
with green islands, back of which stand giant, white moun
tains. The sun is blazing against sparkling snow and
greeny glaciers. It all makes me feel glad throughout my

THE LAST LAP— ALASKA 23
whole being, for I love it so and it reminds me so much of
her. Her blue eyes and the sweet, fresh beauty of her
would fit in wonderfully well with this land that I am now
entering. She was not made for the smoky, dusty cities
with their rushing, fussy people, but for the clean, pure
north. Here, only, I am sure, can she be happy. She and
I were made for this country and we will be here together
some day — with God's help.
I wish I could go right away and pick out the place for
our home, but that can't be done. I must first seek a job
to make a stake and then go prospecting for our home.

Haines, Alaska.
April 8, 1914.
Home again! My heart is full to the brim with being
home again. I thought I knew how much I loved this beau
tiful land but I didn't until I came back among its protec
ting mountains.
Haines is a small town on a bay of Lynn Canal. At this
time of the year its scenery is least beautiful, for the snow
is just melting and here and there are black streaks and
spots on the white carpet. Yet, it is beautiful. The town
itself looks as if a giant had waded up the fiord and thrown
a handful of colored confetti on the beach and in among
the spruces. The houses are of all shapes and colors and
are very picturesque. The square built barracks at Fort
Seward, a mile or so from the town, with the creamy, yel
low buildings shining in the sun, are very beautiful, oh, so
very beautiful !
I lived here sixteen months as a soldier, and many were
the happy days I spent at the fort and in the adjoining
woods. How the boys greeted me when I landed ! They
thought I had come back to reenlist and they welcomed me
with open arms. I hadn't known that I had so many friends
among them.

24 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
Porcupine, Alaska.
April n, 1914.
Leaving Haines, I mushed up the Chilkat River behind a
dog team and sleigh. It was a fine, sunshiny day; the
snow had frozen hard during the night and made excellent
sleighing. How the sun shone on the sparkling, white
mountains ! The dogs trotted along, eager to run and snap
ping at the snow as they went. I had to run most of the
time to keep up with them. It was glorious. We stopped
at Klukwan over night and the next day at noon we reached
Porcupine where I was offered a job right away.
This is a gold mine. I suppose any one would imagine
me down in a rocky pit, digging out yellow nuggets with
a pick and shovel. I may be doing this in a month or two
but for some time I'll be busy shoveling snow. There are
about six feet of solid snow on the level here and much
more where it has drifted. Everything has to be dug out,
houses, tools, flume and everything.
The mine is on Porcupine Creek, a glacier creek running
through a long, deep gulch with steep mountains on each
side. The scenery is wonderful, blue sky high above the
rim of the towering mountains and the spruce and hemlock
covered hillsides. Even ten straight hours of snow shovel
ing cannot kill in me the joyful appreciation of this won
derland.

CHAPTER V
PROSPECTING  A STAMPEDE Porcupine, Alaska.
April 30, 1914.
I AM still shoveling snow. It seems that we will never
get to work mining. Snow, snow, snow, all day long.
We have uncovered all sorts of things, flumes, sluice
boxes, pipe lines, water ditches, lumber piles and machinery,
and yet we are shoveling, shoveling, all day long every day ;
but everything has an end, and I suppose some day they
will give me something else to do. I know, though, that as
long as there is any shoveling to do, I'll have to do it, for
the boss, Mr. Jackson, thinks I am a pretty good shoveler
and knows that I love it, so he keeps me at it. The other
day he gave all the other men something else to do but kept
me shoveling. Then he came over and sat down on a lum
ber pile near me and watched me work. It was very exas
perating and I scowled as I shoveled.
"You are a pretty good shoveler," he said.
I kept on working as I replied sarcastically, "Yes, it is
because I am so fond of it."
He didn't say anything more and soon walked away to
where the other men worked and didn't come near me
again that day. I was not at all sorry, though I do wish I
hadn't been so rude about it. I might have given him a de
cent answer, but that is the way I am, always "taking the
bull by the wrong tail," as Dutch said. Mr. Jackson has
kept away from me the last few days. I hope I haven't
hurt his feelings. 25

26 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
Porcupine, Alaska.
May 14, 1914.
Just received a long letter from her this evening. I am
so happy that I could jump up and down and whoop.
Gosh! but I wish I could quit to-morrow. I haven't been
to the place by the lake yet, but when I get ready to go
and seek our home, I shall go there first. But I have to
wait a while, for it takes money to live and three dollars
more every day look good to me. I have already earned a
hundred dollars and that it not so bad.
A fellow here wants me to go prospecting with him.
He says he has a sure thing up in the Rainy Hollow coun
try. He says he can go up there and make a couple of
thousand dollars in a season with a lot less work than we
do here. He, Riley, is an ex-soldier from the same regi
ment as I and I don't really see how he knows so much
about prospecting. Yet he is so sure about wb,at he says
that I think perhaps he is right. He may have been pros
pecting before he got into the army. He won't give me
any particulars about the place for fear I will go there my
self and not take him along but he offers me a half interest
in the proposition for going in with him. He hasn't any
money at all and needs some one with a few dollars to buy
grub. I am through shoveling snow and am helping the carpen
ters build a flume. Mr. Jackson only comes around once
a day and he doesn't bother me at all any more. I think
I like him and am sorry I was rude to him.

Porcupine, Alaska.
May 24, 1914.
I have quit my job and am going prospecting. Riley and
I talked about it every night till I became so interested
that I wanted to go.
Riley is a medium sized man, broad shouldered and heavy
in the hips. He has jet black eyes, for he is a quarter breed

PROSPECTING— A STAMPEDE 27
Choctaw from Oklahoma and he seems to be very good
natured and jolly, though rather wild and reckless in his
talk. He is about my age and I think we will get along all
right, though I'll have to admit that he is rather extrava
gant when he appraises himself, and loud self-esteem is
something that seldom goes hand in hand with the ability
that Riley claims to possess. Still, he may be an exception
to the rule, and if what he says about this mine is true,
I guess I can stand him for a season or two. He has been
discharged from the army only two months and is still
pretty soft but he claims to be a devil of a worker and he
is built well enough to be that.
We decided to go last night and this morning when we
didn't go to work, the boss, Mr. Jackson, came and asked
what was the matter. I told him I was going to' quit and
to my surprise he asked me to stay. He said that I was a
good man and he would be glad to have me stay. Naturally
I wondered how long he had had that opinion of me, so I
asked him why he had always watched me so closely when
I was working, as if he were afraid I would miss a shovel
ful. He laughed and said that he had liked my looks from
the first day and that he liked to watch me work because
I did such a good job with such ease. Well, the man may
have been trying to kid me into staying or he may have
really told the truth. If the latter is true, then it is only
another case of my jumping at the wrong conclusion.
The place we are going to is only about fifty miles from
here, so Riley says. He won't tell me where it is even now
when I have spent money for grub and tools. "Up be
hind the Rainy Hollow country," he says, and that is a
pretty vague direction, for all of Alaska lies behind the
Rainy Hollow. We shall see what we shall see, however.
It may be a wild goose chase but if it is, I can go back to
work here, so Jackson says, and I am not worrying. If
this thing turns out as well as Riley thinks it will, we'll both
be rich by the end of the summer.

28 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
Pleasant Camp, Alaska.
May 26, 1914.
We are only seven miles away from Porcupine as yet,
and though I am anxious to get after the gold, I don't mind
having Riley do a little hunting along the way. He doesn't
seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere and it rather peeves
me, for really it is my expedition ; that is, I have furnished
all the money, and from to-day's experiences I have come to
doubt my partner's ever having been up in this part of the
country before.
This morning we went out to see if we could get a bear.
The woods around here are literally full of bears and there
are signs of them everywhere. We first went into a deep
swamp where we wandered around and around and around,
following signs of bear. Riley was leading and I noticed
that he was taking us around in a ring, for we passed a
certain tree at least three times. So I told him about it
but he didn't believe me and said that in a short time
we would be out of the swamp and up on a ridge that led to
Jarvis glacier. He said that he had been up in this part
of the woods and knew them like a book. So I followed
him around another half hour or so and then I happened to
look through a small clear space and saw Pleasant Camp
about a mile away.
"Say," I called to my partner, "where are we going, any
way? I want to know."
"You'll find out soon enough," Riley said overbearingly.
Then on an after thought he softened and said, "We are
going after bear. We'll soon be out of this swamp. It's a
long time since I was here and I didn't remember how big
it was, but the ridge is right ahead of us. We'll be there
in just a little while. Come on."
"Hold on," said I. "How far are we from Pleasant
Camp now?"
"About ten miles, as far as I can tell," Riley answered
impatiently. "But what has that to do with it ? Come on,

PROSPECTING— A STAMPEDE 29
we are wasting time," and he started off again but I went at
right angles to him.
After a little bit, when he noticed that I wasn't following
him and the underbrush had hidden me, he stopped and I
heard him yelling, "Hello, Svend, hello, where are you ?"
I didn't answer for a moment or two and he got quite
excited and yelled at the top of his voice. I was only a few
yards from him and when I stepped out of the brush he
began to bawl me out.
"Damn it!" he swore, "I thought you were lost. You
want to be careful. It's easy to get lost in these woods. I
don't want to be blamed for taking you out and getting you
lost. You stay right close to me. I have been in these
woods before," and so on.
I finally held up my hand and told him to follow me a
while, which he did, for I had started off through the woods
and Riley wouldn't have me lost for anything. In less than
ten minutes we were out of the swamp and in sight of the
camp, so we decided to go in and have dinner before doing
any more hunting. I didn't say anything to Riley about
his having lost his way, for I think he felt cheap enough as
it was.
After dinner we struck out along the boundary line be
tween U. S. Alaska and Canada. A sixty-foot slashing runs
all the way along the line and we followed it, going most
of the time on the fallen timber. I carried a shotgun and
Riley a 30-40 rifle. He led the way, for he had been there
before- and was fond of leading, anyway. The morning's
experiences didn't seem to have made much impression on
him. Every hundred yards there was a stake that read "U.
S." on one side and "Canada" on the other. They were
wood, generally, and in almost every one of them marks
of bear where they had dug their claws in and stretched
themselves. In the scratches and behind slivers were black,
brown and gray hairs where they had rubbed themselves
against the roughly hewn posts. Riley was telling how he
and a Corporal Dennis had killed a mother bear and two

30 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
cubs right along there. They had worn snowshoes, for it
had been in the fall after the first snow came. Riley said
that the bear came for him but that he stood his ground
and pumped shot after shot into her. "She died with her
forepaws in my snowshoes," he said, as if it were a com
mon occurrence to him to have something thrilling hap
pening. Riley had been quiet for a while. We were crossing a
small ravine on a big spruce log that lay across it like a
bridge. Down in the bottom in a thicket of thorny devil-
clubs lay a great big, brown bear fast asleep. Riley saw it
first, so it was his shot, and I stopped still on the log while
he flipped his gun to his shoulder and with incredible speed
pumped five cartridges out of his gun ! I was so astonished
that I didn't think of shooting or I might have got the beast
with my shotgun. I was close enough to it.
"I got him" Riley yelled exultantly, but he looked quite
pale and threw his gun down on the monster. It landed
squarely on his back and up he jumped, made a swipe at the
gun with his paw, and then rushed down the ravine with
amazing speed.
I was watching the bear and didn't see Riley fall back
ward off the log down among the devil-clubs, but there he
was where the bear had been, all full of stickers and swear
ing like a Turk.
"After him, after him," he yelled to me. "He's wounded
and will die in a little while."
Of course I didn't go after the bear and my partner be
came violently angry with me. I showed him the five un
used cartridges and he eyed me suspiciously and said it
was a poor joke to pull off a trick like that. He still be
lieves that in some mysterious fashion I picked up the
empty shells and hid them away to make him think that
he hadn't fired.
It is evening now and we are back in Pleasant Camp.
Riley is over at an old trapper's cabin, telling his adven
tures and woes. I am beginning to lose faith in the man.

PROSPECTING— A STAMPEDE 31
I am sitting under a great big spruce and the sun has
just glided behind a mountain to the northwest. It is about
ten o'clock and time to go to sleep.

The headwaters of the Klihinah.
May 28, 1914.
We are only about ten miles from Pleasant Camp, for
Riley is in no hurry and he considers himself the boss of
this expedition.
He doesn't seem to know the country and I am begin
ning to suspect that he doesn't know a thing about pros
pecting and that this good thing we are heading for is
largely imagination. I am sure he had never panned gold
in his life before yesterday afternoon.
A young Englishman, who calls himself Roberts, came
along yesterday and attached himself to our party. He
and Riley became great chums right away and Riley asked
him to go with us without consulting me about it.
We made camp on the bank of the Klihinah where a clear
creek tumbles down the mountainside through a deep, wind
ing canyon. While I cut spruce boughs for our bed, Riley
and Roberts went down to the mouth of the creek to pros
pect. When I had the boughs all laid I went down to see
what they were doing and found them lying flat on their
bellies, grabbing for mica that was floating down over the
bottom of the creek. They both thought it was gold. I
laughed at them and Riley got very angry, but I didn't want
to start a racket, so I said nothing and walked down the
bank of the Klihinah to think it over. If Riley thought
that those flakes of mica were gold, then he was an abso
lute greenhorn as to prospecting and had been stringing me
along all the time. I wondered if I couldn't find a bit of
gold-dust just to show the fellows what it looked like, so
I went over to our camp, got a gold pan and walked down
to where the river runs through a box canyon. I dug the
dirt out of a couple of crevices and then panned it out in
an eddy of the stream. As the gravel and sand became less

32 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
and less, I fancied I saw a speck of yellow now and then
along the rim of the dirt, and sure enough when I got it
concentrated down to black sand, there were quite a few
small, yellow specks that were gold without a doubt. I was
quite excited about it but at the same time I realized that
it was very fine dust and that it would take a lot of it to
make a dollar. But it was gold, anyway, and where there
was a little there might be more. I dug out a few more
crevices and after an hour or so of panning I had about ten
cent's worth of gold in the pan. This I took up to the camp
about a mile away. My pardner and Roberts were there
and I asked Riley what kind of luck he had had.
"None," he said. "There's nothing here. The gold is so
fine it floats. Can't catch it."
"Huh," said I, "that's pretty fine, all right. Want to see
some gold?"
They both started but I could tell by the look on my pard-
ner's face that he was sure that what I had wasn't gold.
Who was I to be able to find gold when he couldn't? I
suppose anybody has contempt for a fellow he plays for a
sucker. I took my pan and put a little water in it, rotating
it a bit to concentrate the gold where it would show up the
best. They craned their necks over the pan and Riley
snatched it away from me, took out his magnifying glass,
inspected it closely and then said with great authority,
"That's gold, where did you get it ?"
"Oh, I got it in the ground," I said, "and there's a lot
more there."
"Where? where in the ground, I asked you?" cried my
partner. "Why do you want to know now ?" I asked. "Won't to
morrow be soon enough?"
"You won't tell me," he yelled, "and I thought you was
my partner. Come on, Roberts, we'll go and take a look at
the place. I know where it is all right." They disappeared
in the brush, going down the river and I heard Roberts

PROSPECTING— A STAMPEDE 33
ask, "How much was there in that pan, pal?" and Riley
answered with conviction, "Ten dollars, if a cent."
They have been gone over two hours and it has given me
a chance to write my diary. It is my chief companion these
days. I didn't even have time to think of Marian to-day but
I love her just the same.

Klihinah,
May 29, 1914.
This morning we had a rupture in camp. I didn't like
this fellow Rooerts in the first place — he's too fresh and too
condescending in his manner for a person who is not self-
supporting, so last night I decided that he had been here
long enough. This morning I got up early and while the
others were asleep I took all the guns out and cached them
in the brush, except Robert's .22 rifle and my own .44 Colts
automatic, which latter I strapped on my hip. Then I
cooked a goodly breakfast of mush and hot cakes and
roused the others. While they were eating I said to Rob
erts, "This is your last meal with us, Roberts. You'll have
to go after breakfast. Two is company here but three
is a crowd."
"What the hell do you mean ?" they asked simultaneously,
staring at me.
"I mean just what I say," I replied, and turning to face
Riley squarely I said, "Roberts will have to go. I have stood
enough from him and you. Since he's been here, you
haven't had a decent word for me and that in spite of the
fact that you are both eating at my table. It's got to stop
and Roberts is going after breakfast."
I had guessed right, for Riley was looking around for
his rifle and I was glad it wasn't there. Then he tried
to bluff me but when he saw that I was not scared, he
backed out and just talked and the end of it was that
Roberts went back down the river. He no doubt thought
it was because I had struck it rich somewhere and didn't
want him in on it, for although he started down the river

34 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
all right, we saw him hanging around the woods all day
watching us.
I had a heart to heart talk with Riley too this morning
and I made him understand that if he didn't quit being so
overbearing and begin to act like a partner and not a
boss, I'd take my outfit and go back to Porcupine and
work for wages.
"But what of the strike you have made?" he asked, and
I told him that it could wait all right.
He, in turn, said that he had not meant to abuse me,
that that was just the way he always was, and I advised
him to change his way and become more accommodating.
I don't think that he would have been so quiet about it
had he known where I had found the gold and where his
gun was, for I think Riley is a bit of a desperado and
would like to do something like holding a fellow up.
Later in the day when we had become good friends again
I showed him where I had found the gold and how a man
can get gold dust out of crevices, and when he wanted to
stake a claim right in the box canyon, I explained to him
that it was better to trace the gold to get nearer to its
source. Evidently Riley has never prospected for placer
gold for he had no suggestions to offer and was quite
willing to do as I suggested. So, during the afternoon,
we worked up stream, panning here and there. There was
gold in the crevices and in the gravel banks above the can
yon. Not much but a little everywhere. I decided that
we had discovered a large body of low grade placer ground
with a prospect for anything, and at the mouth of the small
creek we were camped on I staked "Discovery" and Riley
staked "No. One Below." Of course we are partners and
he has half interest in my claim and I in his. It may not
amount to anything but we'll give it a try for it might pay.
Roberts has built a campfire about a mile and a half
below our claims. I can see the smoke of it through the
tree tops.

PROSPECTING— A STAMPEDE 35
Klihinah,
June 1, 1914.
Riley and I went to Pleasant Camp yesterday. On the
way we met Roberts and a boy named 'Carr, with whom
he has joined forces. They are going to stake near us they
said. In Pleasant Camp we met some of my friends out on
a camping trip with some of their friends. The mis
sionary and the school teacher of Klukwan were with them
and I told them confidentially that my partner and I had
staked, and that, although we only had a prospect so far,
there was a good chance of our finding something better.
If they cared to take a chance and spend the few dollars
that it took to record a claim, I said I would help them
do the staking. They all came out with us, eight of them,
and we were very busy that evening staking claims and
chopping lines. My friends are enthusiastic about it, and
as some of them know a good deal about placer gold, I am
beginning to think that we have struck it rich.
This morning I was standing by my prospect hole holding
a small skin bag full of black sand in my hand talking to the
missionary. We were discussing some black sand with
platinum in it that was valued at eighteen thousand dollars
a ton, when Roberts and Carr came past. As they dis
appeared I heard Roberts say excitedly, "He's got eighteen
thousand dollars already."
I don't know where Roberts and Carr have staked. My
friends have staked above and below "Discovery" and we
have seen no sign of their stakes anywhere. To-night
some of the men are going to Haines, and I have sent word
to my friends to come up if they care to take the chance
of losing a few dollars. There's going to be a lot of money
made on this strike if it turns out to be good. And if it
does, if I can make a stake this summer, I can go down
and ask Marian to come up to God's country with me.
But I am not so confident as the others that we'll get rich.
Man seldom gets anything without working for it.

CHAPTER VI

A POOR PARDNER

Klihinah,
June 10, 1914.
THERE is a stampede on and everybody in the country
is here or on the way. I sent word to some of my
friends and they came right away but that wasn't
what made the stampede. Roberts and Carr got excited and
told about the strike in Glacier Camp and Porcupine, saying
that I fiad already taken out eighteen thousand dollars and
that they had seen some of the gold. I had a big poke
full when they last saw me, they said. Then they went
on to spread the news in Klukwan and Haines.
The boys in the mining camps took no stock in it at first,
for they knew that I had been gone only a few days, but
when they saw some of my friends secretly preparing to go,
they, too, got the fever and every man in the mining camps
of that locality quit his job and rushed up the river pell
mell for the diggings, seventeen miles away. They came in
bunches, rushing up to the fast growing camp and inquiring
where they could stake. Two men had made a hurried map
of the Klihinah and vicinity and the claims already staked
and they charged five dollars per man to show him where
to stake. They made a lot of money, those two fellows.
For the next few days people just poured from down the
river. When they reached Haines, Roberts and Carr had
it that I had eighteen thousand dollars in nuggets and that
they had both seen them. The telephones began to ring
and at 1 A. M. three-fourths of the population was on the
way, some on horse, some with wagons, but most of them
on foot. Of course it is fifty-seven miles up here and
36

A POOR PARDNER 37
many of them turned back before they had gone very far,
but enough reached here to stake the whole river for
several miles up and down. Nobody has found any gold
to speak of yet and there is a lot of disappointment going
around. Some of them thought that they could kick the
nuggets out of the grass roots anywhere up here and they
are pretty sore. I heard a man who was coming through
with a pack train say that it was a shame to get all those
people up there that way and he even went so far as to hint
that fellows like me who started stampedes ought to be
put behind the bars.
There are all sorts of types here, from mere boys to
old, tried prospectors, but most of the men are from the
mining camps in the Porcupine district. The people from
town come, stake their claims, growl about it and go back
down again, but the men from the camps have started to
dig in several places. They have formed in groups of
three or four and are digging in from the banks of the
river. One man has found a two dollar nugget and another
has found a ten cent piece. One old fellow, a trapper,
found a small pocket, and took out twenty dollars in dust
and very small pieces. These men that are digging are not
kicking at all. It is the ones who do nothing that have so
much fault to find with the camp.
The worst of it is that they are blaming me for their
misfortunes. The good Lord knows that I didn't intend
to start a stampede. However, I have a good prospect here
and everything may turn out well for me after all if I
keep a-digging. I have been working on a cross cut from
the bank of the river up a small bench. My object is to
find an old channel of the river, which I am sure is up
there on the bench. I pan a little now and then as I go
along and have found gold everywhere, but not enough to
make it pay working by hand.
Riley doesn't help me. He's not the working kind. He
goes around among the idlers and brags about how we dis
covered the diggings. He is a poor partner to have and

38 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
I wish I could get rid of him. To-morrow I must go down
to Klukwan for supplies and I'll have to start early, so
I'd better get some sleep.

Klihinah,
June 15, 1914.
Many things have happened the last few days and I am
a little poorer for them. When I reached Porcupine on
the way to Klukwan, I met Mr. Jackson. He seemed very
glad to see me, but he said that the superintendent was as
sore as a boil at me for starting the stampede and taking
all the men away from his camp. I felt bad about this so
I explained how it had happened and Jackson believed
me all right but he had his doubts about changing the
super's mind about it.
In Klukwan they were very good to me and I bought a
hundred dollar's worth of grub and tools, though it took
my very last cent. Then I borrowed their team and wagon
and started for the diggings early in the morning. An
Indian went with me to take the team back home.
We had no trouble until we came to the Jarvis river,
which we had to cross. It had been a hot day and the
glacier-fed river was high and swift. There's a foot bridge
across and I should have carried the supplies over it and
then pulled the wagon over empty, but it was getting late
and Pleasant Camp, where I intended to stay over night,
was only a mile away so I didn't like the idea of unloading
and loading again. I took a chance and drove off into the
swiftly running glacier stream. The horses had crossed
this place several times before and were willing enough,
but the water was deeper that I had expected and it reached
up to the horses' bellies. In the middle we struck a rock
and the wagon came to a standstill crossways in the river,
the water pushing against the box and splashing in over
the top. I used the whip and then everything happened.
The horses lunged, the doubletree snapped in the middle,
the horses jumped ahead, I tried to hold them and was

A POOR PARDNER 39
dragged off the seat and through the river to the opposite
bank. Joe, the Indian, jumped off when the current turned
the wagon and crawled out on the bank a little below me.
The wagon rolled over and over, going gently down the
river spilling the entire load. Then the king bolt came out
and it parted in the middle, the hind part being washed
up on one side of the river and the front part on the other,
while the wagon box floated down half a mile and stranded
on a gravel bar in the middle of the river. Most of the load
was gone and the little of it I found was practically ruined.
The Indian and I got what things we could find together,
and, with the help of the horses set up the wagon again,
using a piece of wire in place of the king bolt. Then we
drove wearily up to Pleasant Camp.
The next morning I sent the Indian back to Klukwan
with a letter telling how it had all happened, saying that I
would pay for thte damages when I could. I had expected
to sell some of the grub to several parties in our camp
and they were disappointed and left the place, going down
for good. Riley was very angry and disgusted with me
and didn't cease telling me what I should have done till I
shook my fist in his face and told him to shut up or I
would smash it for him.
The superintendent from Porcupine came up and looked
the ground over. Almost everybody in the camp came to
hear his opinion and he, after a careful survey of the
ground and the formation thereabouts, pronounced that
there was nothing there but a little native scattered gold.
He said they had known about it for a long time and if
it had been worth while to mine, it would have been taken
up and worked long ago. "It'll never pay," he ended.
That ended the stampede and most of the men went down
to Haines or to work in the mines.
Before the superintendent started away, I saw him talk
ing to Riley and wondered what on earth they could be
talking about, for while Riley had worked in Porcupine,
the super had but little use for the lazy, worthless fellow.

40 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
Yet I think I found out the next morning, for Riley carried
his gun around all the time and growled and kicked con
tinually about this and that. During the forenoon he was
over on his claim measuring it by pacing. Then at dinner
time he came in particularly foul-mouthed and abusive. I
had cheated him he swore, cheated him out of twenty feet
of ground and squeezed one of my friends in on him.
This exasperated me beyond measure, for I knew he was
wrong. We had some sizzling hot words on the subject
that brought onlookers from several nearby camps. Riley
turned ashly pale and ran for his rifle leaning against a
tree. "You'll beat me up, will you?" he screamed, snatching
the gun and blazing away from the hip. Bang, bang, twice
he shot, and then the chamber blocked. It was a wonder
that he missed me. I was a little scared, but I had been
so angry that the chief effect of this was to calm me down.
I could have rushed him while the gun was jammed. Maybe
I didn't do it because I was afraid to, but I hardly think
that was the reason. My better judgment told me to
take it easy.
"Put your gun away," I said as calmly as I could, "and
we'll go and measure your claim."
He was quiet now and very pale and because he was
afraid that I would take his gun away, he backed out of
reach. I got a tape line and with one of the bystanders
measured Riley's claim while he sat with his rifle across
his knees watching us with a satisfied expression on his
face. He was making me measure his claim at the point
of a gun.
Of course I was right as to the measurements. After the
thing was all over, Riley went off up the river somewhere.
When he came back, he rolled up his blankets and beat it
down the river, saying nothing to any one. That was
yesterday. I am alone now and am spending all the time
possible on the hole. It seems that the farther I get from
the brink of the river, the less gold I find. If I can get

A POOR PARDNER 41
some boards to make a sluice box, I think I'll try running
some gravel through and see how much I get that way.
Klihinah,
June 20, 1914.
Things are about the same as when I last wrote. I have
been sluicing for the last two days. There is a lot of slimy
clay in the gravel and the gold is hard to catch because it
hangs in the clay and goes out through the box with the
rest of the tailings and I only get a little of it. I found
one piece worth about fifty cents to-day and two worth
about eight cents and ten cents yesterday, so there is no
doubt that the gold is here if I can only save it. Who
knows how many pieces have rolled down the box, sticking
to a lump of clay ? I clean up every evening and, from the
estimates of the miners here, I made about three dollars the
first day and two the second. Most of the men have gone
away and the camp looks deserted, but it is a relief to
have no bickering and quarreling.
A Swede came up yesterday, sent by one of my friends,
to tell me that the super at Porcupine might try to get me
into trouble. My friend had overheard a discussion
between the Porcupine superintendent and the manager
of a big mining company near by and the two men had
agreed that they must see to it that I didn't start another
stampede, as they had already been delayed far too much
in their summer's work. Of course I'm sorry if their work
is delayed, but I see no reason at all for these men to miss
the chance to make a stake that might mean the changing
of their whole lives, just to save those managers a little
delay. Later, if I struck it rich, a lot of men would come
to the country and they would have all the men they
wanted. No matter what they do, I am going to keep on
working my claim just the same.
But I am afraid I won't get rich this time. I have had
a splendid experience, however, that is worth more than
mere money; but in the meantime, my home building has

42 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
been delayed. But perhaps it is better that way. Perhaps
I have not grown up enough to be a husband and father.

Klihinah,
July I, 1914.
I received another letter from Marian to-day. It was a
long, sweet letter that filled me with confidence that every
thing will come out for the best. Even though things
look almost hopeless here, I do not fear failure.
If I don't strike richer ground here soon, I will have
to quit working, for my grub supply is getting low. If I
only had some adequate tools, I am sure it would pay to
work the claim. I need a five inch pipe line about two
hundred feet long, a good long sluice box and a little
powder to get rid of the large bowlders. But I haven't
got them and I have no chance of getting them, except by
borrowing money from my friends, and that I will not do.
So I am afraid I shall have to seek a job soon. I am not
making more than a dollar and a half a day, and part of
that is only guess work. The gold is so fine that I have
to use mercury to catch it and that is an uncertain business
at best. I have a saturated solution of mercury and gold,
if one can call it that; anyway, it is mercury with as much
gold as it will hold, a lump of the consistency of putty
and about as large as a walnut, and it has been estimated
to be worth twenty dollars. I tried to retort some of it by
placing it in a frying pan over the fire. I had been told
that thus the quicksilver would evaporate and leave the
gold, but it didn't work, for the darned stuff spluttered and
most of it jumped into the fire and was lost some way. I
didn't see how it happened, for the fumes of mercury are
poison and the wind in among the spruce trees blew from
all directions; so, after I had placed the pan where it
couldn't tip over, I ran to where there was no danger of any
fumes reaching me. When I got back, the gold had all
jumped out of the pan. One of the miners here said that
it was because there was grease on the pan, and another

A POOR PARDNER 43
said it was because the pan was too hot ; anyway, I am not
going to try that any more. I hate to think of quitting
the claim before I have to, for I never can tell but that
there is a chunk of gold as big as my head in the next
shovelful, and so I work on and work on as fast as I can
all day long, but I don't get anything bigger than a ten
cent piece.
It has started to rain the last few days, just pours down,
and there is no controlling the water in my ditch. My
sluice box kept washing away to-day and I had to stop
sluicing. The small creek on my claim is a regular river
and roars down the mountainside with a mighty voice. One
of the old timers, who has lived in this part of the country
for a long time, says that this will last for a month or
more and that is why it is called the Rainy Hollow country.
I surely hope it will quit, for I want to work and take out
a few more dollars. I tried to get a job in Porcupine the
other day, but I was told to get off the company's ground.
They wouldn't give me credit in the store so I traded
some dust for flour and bacon and went back to my
diggings. There are only five men here now, all the rest
having gone away disappointed. Life is a peculiar thing.
A few weeks ago everybody thought I was a benefactor
and a smart man, but now they curse me or laugh at the
fool up on the Klihinah. I feel as if I hadn't a friend in
the world, but I know that isn't so. It is only the rain
drumming on the tent, my wet clothes and the wet, wet
world without, that makes me think so. But her letter,
that is warmth and sunshine, yes, and dryness, even if I
am a failure.

Klihinah,
July 20, 1914.
Well, I have a new partner. He is an American named
Matt, just a boy about twenty years old. He has blue
eyes and yellow hair and is a good kid.
It has been raining for the last two weeks and I haven't

44 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
done any work to speak of and that means that I haven't
made anything. In fact, I have lost my twenty dollar's
worth of amalgam. I had it lying outside of my tent on
a bench and one morning it was gone. I think some one
took it, some one who was going out and wanted some
thing to show from the stampede. So we have, Matt and
I, only about ten dollars in dust. When the rain stops we
will dig a little while longer and see what we can make
and then maybe we will mush over the Dalton trail to
the interior and seek a job. Matt is expecting his brother
Earl out this way and if he comes he may join forces with
us and we will be quite a caravan.

Klihinah,
July 27, 1 914.
It is all off with the gold camp now. For the last few
days only Matt and I have been here. The only other
party that stayed here was broken up by the leader shooting
himself in the foot accidentally with his own rifle. We
packed him out four days ago and the river and the woods
are now as quiet again as they were when I first came here.
To-day I saw a black bear rooting around where a few
days ago stood a small village of tents, and the grouse
are scratching and feeding in the man-made clearings.
Matt's brother Earl came up yesterday and with the
last of my gold dust and a little of Earl's money we bought
enough to take up to White Horse, Yukon Territory. We
are starting day after to-morrow. To-morrow morning I
shall run down to Porcupine with our last mail before
we go.
There will be no trains to beat any longer nor even a
chance to ride on a wagon, for after we leave the Rainy
Hollow there will only be a footpath for a couple of hun
dred miles till we reach the Champaigne country, so Matt
says, anyway, and he is the only one of the three who has
been up that way. I will not be able to send my diary to
Marian as I have been doing, but I shall write just the

A POOR PARDNER 45
same as I go along and when I get to a post-office I shall
send the whole works. I shall think of her often and even
though I have failed to accomplish what I intended to this
summer, I dare dream of her in a quiet little cabin some
where that will be our home.

CHAPTER VII
SHEEP HUNTING White Horse, Y. T.,
Aug. 12, 1914
SOME time has again elapsed and my diary has nof
been touched. I am sitting on the brink of the mighty
river that flows from here two thousand miles through
the north before it reaches the ocean. It is a fine clear day
and the light breeze is fanning me to keep the mosquitoes
away as I write the experiences of the trip across the
mountains and through the country. White Horse lies on
the brink of the river and is surrounded by woods and
mountains, but they are not like the mountains of the coast,
they are not so steep and high and there are no glaciers on
them. They are rounded and the tops of them are bare of
woods. They lie far apart with broad valleys covered with
heavy forests of jack pine and spruce.
We left the diggings on the Klihinah on the 29th of
July early in the morning, the three of us, Matt, Earl and
I, each carrying an equal amount of grub and our blankets.
But my load was the heaviest by twenty-five pounds for
I carried my rubber boots, extra shoe packs and clothes.
My partners thought this was very foolish and I admitted
it several times to myself on the way.
Everything went smoothly the first few days and we
mushed right along in the best of humor, helping each
other make the camp at night and being very sociable gen
erally. On the third day it began to rain and we became
soaking wet. Then we lost the trail and Earl, who was
the youngest, being only seventeen, lost his nerve and
wanted to go back. We argued about it and pitched camp
46

SHEEP HUNTING 47
because we couldn't decide what to do. Finally I left the
camp and climbed to the top of a nearby heap of rocks
from which I could see over the crest of the ridge and into
a long, broad valley with the river in the center of it
running to the east. When I told them what I had seen
Matt said it was the Alsik river, and once there we could
not get lost. So we struck camp and mushed on, our
blankets twice as heavy as they had been on account of
the rain. Earl kept yammering about wild goose chases
and the foolishness of going so far for a job, but in the
afternoon when the sun came out and we could see the
Alsik valley spread out before us, he brightened up and
became quite jolly.
We camped on a broad bench about a thousand feet above
the river. There was a grove of spruce and jack pine and
a little rushing creek that tumbled down over the bowlders
in a small crooked canyon nearby. It was very beautiful
and wonderful to behold; the silver river winding its way
through the broad valley, spotted with groves of conifers
and patches of willow brush with here and there wide
grassy meadows. We could see mountain sheep grazing
on the mountainside across the river and by the very edge
of the stream we could see a big bear browsing along,
looking for salmon, I suppose. I wanted to write to Marian
and tell her how wonderful it was but Earl kept talking
all the evening about this and that, asking me a hundred
questions, and when he finally let me write, the inspira
tion had passed and I am afraid I shall never be able to
describe the beautiful place and the impression it made
on me. Such color and such light! The sun set beneath
a rounded mountain and I wondered about her and what
she was doing just then and if she were asleep and dream
ing of the northland.
We decided to go sheep hunting the next day. In the
early morning when daylight was still hazy and gray, I was
up and about and had ptarmigan frying over the fire and
rice boiling in the pot while the two boys were making a

48 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
small cache in a branchy tree nearby. We got an early
start and soon we had made our way up the brushy canyon
to the clear benches above. The sun shone glittering in
millions of dewdrops. We were quite wet from pushing
through the brush but once we gained the open bench the
warm sun dried us. On the side of a round, grass-covered,
sun-bathed hill seven white objects moved slowly along.
They were mountain sheep browsing. We halted and dis
cussed the situation. There was no wind at all so that
was not to be taken into consideration. Matt decided to
leave Earl on this side watching the herd while he went
around to the other side and I went around to the back
and climbed over the top and came down on them. We
were all going to slip up as close to them as we could and
when I got ready I was to fire at the center of the flock,
Earl was to take the lower and Matt the upper sheep. Matt
and I cautioned Earl to wait at least half an hour before
he moved, as it would take us that long to reach our re
spective positions, and then we set off at a run. The ground
was cut up where the hill faced the river and it took us
longer than we expected. We hurried over gullies and
humps and rock slides and all kinds of delaying obstacles
in a frantic hurry, because we knew that Earl was anxious
to shoot and that it was doubtful if he would wait half
an hour before moving up on the game. Our fears were
justified, for no sooner were we on the other side of the
hill than the dull report of a rifle shot sounded from the
other side of the mountain. Matt swore and threw his
rifle on the ground, damning all kid brothers. I was thor
oughly disgusted, too, for I would also have liked to get
a shot at them. I kept my eyes peeled, however, and sure
enough, around the crest of the hill came the seven sheep
at a gallop right down towards us. We ducked in among
a jumbled heap of bowlders.
"I'll take the first," I whispered, as the flock came leaping
on. They passed above us within a hundred yards, making
for a long bench below. Both of us blazed away. Matt

SHEEP HUNTING 49
got his sheep with the first shot but I had to fire a second
time before mine fell, tumbling over and over down a
steep rock slide, landing within thirty feet of where we
were hidden.
Earl felt pretty cheap about it. He said that the herd
had seen him as soon as he had started towards them when
the half hour was up and had started off at a run. He had
taken a shot at them anyway and said one of them had fallen
but had gotten up and kept running. Some rocks were in
the way and he didn't have another chance to shoot. Of
course we were satisfied with the way the hunt had turned
out, so we didn't reprimand the kid for having tried to bag
the whole hunt for himself.
We had sheep chops for dinner and for supper and for
breakfast the next morning and it was the most delicious
meat that I ever tasted. It was the only meat that I have
ever eaten that I could eat a whole meal of with nothing
else to go with it. And the best of it is that the fat is
as good as the lean.
I strapped a half sheep on my pack when we started on
our way again and the boys each took a hind quarter, so
we had lots of meat the rest of the way.
Somehow I was awfully grouchy on that trip. The pack
was too heavy and my shoulders and back ached. Earl
kept asking the darndest questions all the time,
"That's a spruce tree, isn't it? There's a creek over
there in that gulch, isn't there ? That last creek we crossed
was pretty muddy, wasn't it?" and so on indefinitely, and
I would nod my head and say, "Yes" and "Uh huh" and
"Yes" all day long. One day I turned and glared at him
in exasperation and shouted: "Isn't it! don't it! ain't it!
won't it ! shouldn't it, ought to have been ! Holy, suffering
saints ! Can't you give a man a rest ? Are you crazy ?"
The boy looked at me in surprise and said, "No, but I
think you are. Your pack is getting pretty heavy, isn't it?"
Well, I suppose I was impatient and intolerant. The kid
was all right and if anybody was doing wrong, it was I

50 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
because I was so grouchy, yet, at the time I felt as if that
boy had done me a grievous wrong. I explained carefully,
or as carefully as I could, for I was almost boiling over
with wrath, that I wanted to do a little thinking of my own
and I asked him not to ask so many, questions or to ask
Matt if there was anything he wanted to know. But, alas,
there was no curbing that lad's inquiring nature. It wasn't
ten minutes before he started on a new chapter of ques
tions and remarks, with questioning "ain't its" behind. I
got so exasperated that I stayed behind almost all the way
and was grouchy and sullen at meal times and in the eve
nings. It is plain to be seen that I was in no mood to write a
diary for the girl that I loved, after such days, so the
detailed experiences of this trip will never be written. We
saw many trails of caribou, moose and bear and we saw
many sheep on the hillsides and we had all the rabbits,
ptarmigan and grouse that we cared to shoot and eat.
At Klukshoo Lake the Stick Indians were camped for
the salmon fishing. This lake is a spawning ground for
the Alsik sockeye salmon and the natives were having a
great time. We learned from them of the war that had
started. "Skookum fight," one of them said with a leer. "Pretty
soon all white men fight. Indian man kill rest," and he
leered again and swung a rifle about his head. He was
under the influence of liquor and I did not take much stock
in what he was saying. It seemed so impossible that one
civilized nation would declare war upon another, and I was
greatly shocked when I learned that it was really a world
war. I forgot to tell about Dalton Post. We came there on
the sixth day in the evening. We were on the wrong side
of the river so Matt fired his gun three times and soon
three squaws broke out of the bushes and came chattering
down to the edge of the river, looking across at us. They
held some kind of a confab and then went back into the

SHEEP HUNTING 51
brush and dragged a canoe out. Two of them got in and
with long poles brought the craft across the river. One
of them was young and very beautiful and she could speak
a little English.
"Where you come from?" the young squaw asked as
soon as they had worked the canoe close to the bank in
an eddy of the current.
"Klihinah," Matt answered. "Big gold camp."
"You know Hootsklahoo?" the girl asked eagerly; a girl
she was, not more than seventeen. She looked inquiringly
at me and Matt shook his head.
In 1912 when I was on a hunting trip up the Chilkat
River, I met several of the Stick Indians and hunted sheep
and goats with them. They dubbed me Hootsklahoo. I
don't know just what it means, but I know that "Hoots"
means bear and I have been told that Hootsklahoo meant
red moose. Still, I think that if the person who told me
that had said brown bear, he would have come nearer the
truth, for when I let my beard grow a month, I look more
like a bear than a human. I might as well tell the rest
of it while I am about it. I was going up the road from
Klukwan to Wells where my camp was, when I came upon
an Indian woman leaning against a tree by the side of the
road. As I passed her I thought she looked mighty sick but
it would not be good manners to stop and ask the health
of a strange squaw, so I hurried on. She was barefooted
and her feet were bleeding, and the pathetic droop of her
shoulders bothered my conscience. It seemed as if I ought
at least to have asked her if there was not something that
I could do for her. Finally I stopped and looked back.
She was still standing by the tree with her shoulders droop
ing. I went over to her and asked if she was sick. Yes,
she was, she answered in good English. She had gone
to Klukwan to visit some relatives and they had been
drinking to celebrate. She had not tasted whiskey for a
long time and the Thlinket squaws had made her drunk
and had taken her shoes away from her and then driven

52 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
her out in the woods at night. Now she was on her way
to where her people, the Sticks, were camped near Wells.
Naturally, I felt very sorry for her and I hated to see her
go barefooted on those bleeding feet. So I looked at my
own feet encased in government shoe packs (I was a sol
dier at the time) and I thought that it was less than a mile
to my camp. Also, I realized that I would have to pay
two dollars and a half for a new pair and I wondered what
kind of a lie I would tell when I had to explain the loss
of my packs to my captain. But I sat down and took my
shoes off and gave them to the squaw. Then I trotted up
the road to my camp, sneaked into my tent the back way,
and got a pair of shoes on before any of the other fellows
noticed me. I told my captain that I had taken my shoe
packs off to wade in after a duck and had not been able
to find them again and I managed to make that stick. Of
course the squaw told about it to the rest of the Sticks
and when I became acquainted with them a few days later
they showed their friendship by taking me out hunting
with them and treating me as one of them. Paddy, their
chief, had said that if I ever came to Dalton Post he would
give me his daughter in marriage, and I had said that I
might take him up on that some time.
So it happened that the Indian girl asked for Hootskla
hoo, and looked inquiringly at me. "Hootsklahoo, Indian
call him. He big red man," she pointed to her hair. "Make
big stampede. You know?"
We all shook our heads but I couldn't help smiling at
her, but also I was a bit embarrassed when she pointed an
accusing finger at me and said, "I know. You Hootskla
hoo," We stepped into the canoe and sat down in the bottom
while the two squaws poled us across. When we reached
the other shore two big Indians came running down the
trail. They had been out hunting and had heard our shots.
They were Paddy and Casey and they thought that I had

SHEEP HUNTING 53
come to stay. When I told them that I was only going
through and intended to stay for one night, they were very
much disappointed.
Paddy took us to his cabin and made us comfortable. His
wife did the cooking and Princess, his daughter, chopped
wood outside and carried water. She was not allowed in
the house while we were there. Matt and Earl went out
to find a place to make a camp for the night and perhaps
to get another look at the pretty Indian maid, but I stayed
with the Indians, for I could see that there was something
Paddy wanted to tell me. After we had talked of the trail
and the game and the gold camp, he took me outside and
showed me a nice warm cabin all furnished with blankets
and everything.
"I give you," he said, "You give my wife eighty dol
lars. You marry Princess. I give you house, traps, I give
you everything. Princess not my daughter, she old chief's
daughter. I marry chief's squaw when he die. She my
daughter — I give you free. My wife want eighty dol
lar." He shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he could
do nothing about that, then he brightened up again. "You
pay next winter. Plenty fur. Plenty time to pay. My
wife want Princess marry you."
But I told him that it couldn't be, that I had a white
girl who was waiting for me and that I had promised to
marry her. He caught me looking at Princess as she went
by with a large piece of meat and he nodded knowingly
to me and said, "You come back sometime. I know. You
come back." Of course I have no desire to come back,
nevertheless it made me embarrassed when Princess peeped
at me through the window, or through the crack in the
door. But at the same time it made me a little angry when
Matt said in a whisper, "Look at that girl making eyes at
me. She's a peach ain't she?"
Early the next morning we left Dalton Post. We arrived
last night, and now we are camping in a canyon outside

54 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
of town, for we haven't money enough to rent a cabin.
We are going to try to get work in the copper mines here,
or cutting wood. These two jobs are about the only ones
a stranger can hope to get.

CHAPTER VIII

DOWN TO MY LAST CENT

White Horse,
Aug. 14, 1914.
THE wheel of Fortune seems to have turned against
me. I came here confident of getting a job, I have
never before seen the time when I couldn't get a
job somewhere, but it seems that at last I have come to
that point. I tried the mines — they had all the men they
wanted. I tried the woods, a dozen wood camps — nothing
doing. And I have only a very few dollars left. I sold
the very last of my gold dust, and received four dollars and
sixty cents, and that is my whole capital except my guns,
my blankets, and my cooking outfit. I would gladly mush
to somewhere to seek a job, but at this time of the year
most of the camps are about to close down for the winter.
I would mush down the Yukon to Dawson, but that is a
long way to go on four dollars, and besides, I have been
told that if a man is found broke and begging there in the
fall, the police put him in jail and keep him chopping
wood for the city all winter. Now I wouldn't mind
chopping wood for a living, but I do object to the jail part
of it, SO' I guess I won't go there.

White Horse,
Aug. 30, 1914.
I received a letter from Marian to-day. It was for
warded from Haines and mighty glad I am that there is at
least something in the world to cheer me up. My spirit
weakens at times, but her letters always rekindle the fires
of ambition and give me new hope.

56 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
There is no work here, absolutely no work. I couldn't
get a job if I offered my services for my board alone.
There is only so much work to do, and they have lots of
men who live right here, to do it. I put in a few hours on
a job longshoring, when the steamship company was in a
hurry to get a boat unloaded, and if it hadn't been for that
and for my rifle that I got ten dollars for, I would have
been begging by now. Things surely cost something up
here. One can't get a meal in a restaurant for less than
seventy-five cents, and not a good meal for less than a
dollar and a half.
Matt and Earl went away down a river to a fox ranch
to try to get a job. They took their things along, so I
suppose they are not coming back and I am all alone in
my canyon lair at night. I must confess that I have been
pretty down hearted and I was even considering going
back to Dalton Post, but that letter put all such thoughts
out of my head.
A man who looked like a detective came up to me on
the street yesterday and began conversation about the war.
I told him that I was a Dane and that I was naturally pro-
English, but I thought the whole thing was a darned shame.
He asked me where I lived and I said, "Oh, just out of
town a ways."
He looked at me very suspiciously and it made me feel
queer. I don't blame him for being suspicious, however.
It must seem queer to any one that I should live outside
of town in a canyon like a beast of prey. I have inquired
round about what a man gets for begging and I have heard
that the Royal Northwestern Mounted Police generally
keep a man in jail chopping wood all winter when he is
caught begging in the fall.

White Horse,
Aug. 25, 1914.
Well, I have to leave here. One of the redcoats came up
to me yesterday morning just when I had come to town

DOWN TO MY LAST CENT 57
and asked me where I had come from. I told him and also
said that I was looking for a job and asked him to let me
know if he learned of anybody wanting a man. I would do
anything, I told him, because I was about broke.
"Take a tip from me, kid," he said, "and beat it away
from here while the beating is good. The captain has seen
you and he doesn't like to have any down-and-outers around
town. We have orders to keep an eye on you and we may
have orders to pinch you at any time."
I haven't done anybody any harm. Nor have I stolen
anything, but I have only a dollar and a half in my pocket,
and I suppose that is more or less of a crime. I can see
why a community like White Horse doesn't like to have
bums hanging around and I suppose that I have no busi
ness being broke. Yet I am and I can see breakers ahead.
This morning after I had cooked the last of my oatmeal
and had eaten my breakfast, I heard somebody coming up
the canyon through the brush. Had the constable not
warned me yesterday I wouldn't have thought anything
about it, but as it was I grabbed my mackinaw and hat and
sneaked into the heavy underbrush up one bank of the
canyon. I got to a place where I could lie under a lot of
small spruce brush and look right down on my camp.
Two redcoats and a man in civilian clothes came sneak
ing up the path. When they found the camp empty, the
civilian cursed roundly. He ordered the two constables
around and they searched the brush up and down the can
yon but found no trace of where I had gone. "He can't
get away from us," I heard the officer say, and then they
rolled up my blankets and my outfit and took the whole
works along with them. I don't know what they want with
me but I am afraid they are short of wood choppers, and
to work all winter for my board, being in jail to boot, is
more than I want. They didn't act as if they wished me
well, so I guess I won't call for my blankets. I am hiding
in a deserted cabin out a mile or so from town and to-night
when it gets dark I am going to take a chance, go into the

58 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
town and buy some grub with my last money, then start
down the track for Skagway. I have nothing but the
clothes I have on and I am wanted. That last thrills me.
It seems like a game that I am playing.

Skagway, Alaska.
Aug. 28,1914.
When a man starts sliding down hill in society, he has
a hard time to stop. I have been sliding and I am still
going. I got some canned beans and some hardtack for
my last money in White Horse the night of the 25th. I
heard the storekeeper telephone to the police that I was
in his store. He served me and tried to keep me in his
place but I told him that I was going to Dawson and was
in a hurry to start, then I ran as fast as I could out of town
and into the woods. I was being really hunted now. Hunted
like a criminal! I kept in the edge of the woods till I
reached the railroad track and then I struck out towards
Skagway, one hundred and eleven miles away.
I hurried along all night and the next morning. At
nine o'clock I came to a good sized town. It was Carcross
or Caribou and I had traveled forty-six miles. I wanted to
go around the town but I had to come through part of it,
for the railroad crosses a bridge where Lake Bennett runs
into Lake Caribou, and there was only one other bridge
and that right by the railroad bridge. But no one paid
any attention to me as I went across and out into the coun
try again. I slept on the soft moss under a jack pine and
after a few hours felt greatly rested, ate a bite and hurried
on. By evening I had traveled twenty-five miles more
and was in Bennett.
I was thoroughly tired now and when I saw that a freight
train was about to pull out, I was glad for I thought that
I could get a ride the rest of the forty odd miles to Skag
way. I hid in the yard between two box cars, but when
the train started a redcoat came along the track and stood

DOWN TO MY LAST CENT 59
a few paces from where I was lying, watching the train
pull out.
In spite of the fact that I hadn't done any harm, I was
afraid of that constable and had he seen me and tried to
pinch me, I had my mind all made up to jump on him,
take his gun away from him, and run. But luckily for
me he went back after the train pulled out, not suspecting
that any one who would have stolen a ride was around. I
watched him go> and saw that he was joined by another
constable who had been watching the other side of the
train and I knew that there was no chance of making a
train out of Bennett. I took to my heels again as soon as
they were out of sight and was soon safely out in the
wilderness once more.
From Bennett the railroad runs up a steep grade to the
White Pass and then it drops down to the sea through a
deep, long, winding canyon. As I neared the coast, the
weather, which had been excellent all the way, became
windy, chill and wet. It started to rain and later to snow
and I was soon wet to the skin. I had intended to find
some place out in the woods where I could get out of the
wind and build a fire, but as it grew darker and darker, I
found that it would be futile to try to camp comfortably
anywhere without tent or blanket. I made up my mind
to make the rest of the forty miles to Skagway before
stopping. I did try to catch a few winks of sleep under
a railroad bridge where there was some shelter, but I was
soon frozen out and had to keep going to keep warm. Up
on the barren wastes of the White Pass the wind drove the
rain so hard that I could hardly make headway against it.
It was dark and cold and I was all alone there in the night,
making my way against the elements. I had to keep on for
there was no shelter till I came to the summit of the pass,
eighteen miles from Skagway. I could not stay there for
that is the boundary line and there are custom officers and
redcoats. I have always been a fast walker but I believe I made a,

60 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
record that night. When the track was in the shelter of
the towering cliffs and mountains so the wind could not
sweep so hard, I ran with long strides. I was tired, so
tired that my legs were numb and they did not hurt at all.
I reached the summit some time in the night. There was
a long station house that was altogether unlighted and de
serted, but there was a smaller house with a lighted room.
I moved silently up to the window. A constable was sitting
by the stove, a paper on his lap. He was asleep. It looked
very warm and comfortable in there. A dog barked. The
constable stirred, and opening his eyes, looked directly at
me. I ducked and ran down the track through long, pitch
dark snowsheds, over bridges, crossing deep gorges where
the wind tore at me till I lay down and crawled on hands
and knees, for fear I'd be blown off. The down hill grade
was steep, so steep that it made traveling much easier than
it had been. It took no effort at all to run.
I came to a station with five or six houses around it. The
last mile stone had read seven, that meant seven miles to
Skagway. I had traveled one hundred and four miles,
with only a couple of hours rest and I was very, very tired.
A shack stood a little way from the track. In the moon
light it looked like some kind of a barn or storehouse. I
tiptoed cautiously up to it. I wanted to find a place to
sleep. ' he door was closed and had a padlock on it. I
went to the back and found a window. It didn't look like
a barn window I thought but I had to find a place to sleep
out of the cold and wet, so I shoved it up and found a
stick to hold it open, lying on the window sill. I crawled
in as quietly as I could and struck a match. I was in a
kitchen. There were lots of pots and pans hanging on the
wall and a big cooking range stood by. I was about to lie
down and sleep on the floor but on second thought I de
cided to see what was in the next room, to be sure no one
was in the house. I tiptoed in through the open door and
struck another match. There was a bed and a man and a
woman lay close together fast asleep. I had a vision of

DOWN TO MY LAST CENT 61
their waking up to find me standing there, so I put out my
match and silently left the room and went out through the
window to the wet, cold night. I shall never enter a house
again in that fashion.
I walked wearily down the track again. My feet had
been wet all night and now they were giving out. At the
three mile post I gave up the struggle and crawled into
a lot of brush at the foot of a giant cottonwood and fell
asleep immediately.
I awoke in the middle of the day, sore in limb and soul.
It was raining and blowing and I had a hard time to get
warmed up. When I left the army, some of the boys had
given me a small nugget pin as a keepsake. I hated to part
with it but I had to eat, so I hocked it with a jeweler for
a dollar and a half and I had a good big feed and a long
sleep in a real bed.
To-day I feel better and shall look around for work. I
have only fifty cents left but there is a boat in to-night and
I might get a job longshoring. If I ever get a job again,
I shall stay with it till I have enough money to justify
my quitting.

CHAPTER IX

A FALSE MOVE

Aug. 30, 1914.
Out in the woods,
I AM out in the woods but I am not happy. I am a very
miserable man, for I have forfeited all right to con
sider myself a good enough man to expect to be con
sidered decent at all. It's up to her to judge if I am still
eligible to be her suitor. I want her to know just how
it happened.
On the night before yesterday I tried to get a job long-
shoring on a passenger boat, but there were a lot more
men than there were jobs, so naturally I didn't get on,
being a new man. I didn't buy a bed that night because 1
had only fifty cents, so I slept in an empty cabin. It was
cold but much better than out of doors and I was very
thankful for it. I had only eaten one meal the day before
and yesterday morning I bought a fifteen cent loaf of
bread and had bread and water for breakfast. It rained
and blew all during the day and I was so miserable that I
stayed in the cabin and read some old magazines that lay
round about on the floor. Toward evening a man came
past and saw me in there.
"What are you doing there?" he asked and eyed me
suspiciously. "I'm just killing time. I am broke and looking for
work." I felt awfully cheap and weak as if I had no back
bone. "Come out of that," the man cried sharply. "You
can't stay there. That shack belongs to me. If you hadn't
spent your money for booze you wouldn't be broke."
62

A FALSE MOVE 63
I was filled with anger at this and ran out of the shack.
"I didn't drink nor beg nor bum, you dirty skunk," I cried,
and ran down the street through the rain. I felt surpris
ingly weak and out of whack, altogether out of harmony
with the rest of the world. I was SO' alone and wet and
cold and hungry.
It is a queer world where a man must work to live,
whether he can get work or not. If he can't get work,
he must starve or beg. But to beg is a crime, so he must
starve or kill himself. But killing himself, too, is against
the law. I bought another loaf of bread and a nickel's
worth of cheese. It was good but it didn't satisfy my
hunger. It didn't hit the right place and I felt just as cold
as before. The steamer Georgia was to come in that night
and was to leave at midnight for Haines on her southward
trip. If I only could get to Haines, I would be all right.
So I went down under the warehouse and tried to catch
some sleep but the rats ran over my legs and one bit my
hand and I hurried out of the infernal place. I wished that
I were a rat and had a nice warm place in the rock where
I could live away from the rain and the storm.
I hovered unsuccessfully around the warehouse, trying
to find a warm place till the Georgia came in. She was
to leave again in an hour. The passengers walked up the
long dock and I followed, for I was cold and I wanted to
be with people. But, once in town, they dwindled away into
hotels and restaurants and I was alone again. I walked
aimlessly around and presently went back to the boat again.
There was no one on deck and I silently boarded her and,
lifting the canvas cover from one of the lifeboats, I crawled
in out of sight. I found that there was water in the bottom
of the boat and it wasn't very comfortable, as I had to' lie
across two seats and I was wet besides. Still, I couldn't do
any better, and once the boat was under way, I could get
out and walk around, and even if they did see me, I'd get
to Haines, whither I was bound. The whistle blew and the
outgoing passengers boarded her. There were some women

64 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
among them and they came and stood close beside the boat
in which I was hiding. I was becoming so stiff and sore
that I changed my position and as I moved, one of them
heard me or saw me under the canvas and she screamed.
A man rushed up and tore the canvas back.
"What the devil are you doing there?" he said. "Come
out of that."
I crawled out and a sorry sight I was, shivering and shak
ing like a leaf, with my torn clothes hanging wet from my
shoulders. "Where did you come on board ?" the man demanded, and
I saw he was the captain.
"Here in Skagway," I answered. "I am wet, cold and
hungry, broke and out of a job. Won't you let me stay
on as far as Haines? That is as far as I want to go."
I must have been a disgusting sight, a big husky man
shaking like a dog and begging for a ride.
"You've been boozing," the captain said. "Go ashore
and don't you try to come on board again, or I'll have you
arrested." I bowed my head and walked over the gangplank. "It
sure is hell," I swore. "What can I do?" I started back
toward the town. By the corner of the dock, bobbing
up and down on the waves, tied by a long rope, there was
a skiff and I had an idea. "I'll row to Haines," I said,
and that made me think of a lot of other things that I
could do. A sudden wild impulse seized me. I remembered
a grocer's window that I had looked into. There had been
bacon, canned meats and biscuits and candy galore. My
mouth had watered at the sight and I had hurried away.
Now I hurried back toward the store. I would eat. I
would not starve or beg like a low down dog! I would
eat and live and take the consequences. I hurried up town.
The night was dark and the wind shook the houses, while
the rain poured down in sheets. I found a heavy driftbolt.
I would use that to break the lock. I was not weak any
longer but active and alive with the excitement of what

A FALSE MOVE 65
I was about to do. I felt like a beast of prey as I glided
along the buildings with the driftbolt clenched in my fist.
I was like a hungry, slinking wolf, alert and fierce. I
found the place and hurried to the back door. I found
where there was a window. That was the way. A blast
of wind shook the doors and windows round about with
great force, and while the racket lasted, I smashed the
window with my bolt. The glass fell inside with a clatter
and I wondered if any one had heard it. I sneaked around
to the front and peered up and down the street. No one
was in sight, so I slipped back and picked up the broken
pieces of glass. Then I crawled in and looked about me.
I was in the back room of a store. There were all kinds
of things hanging from the ceiling and piled against the
walls. My mind worked fast. First I got a gunny sack,
then I crawled into the store. I got a side of bacon and
cut it in two. I got flour, salt, lard and hardtack, and
many other things I thought of. I filled my sack with
grub. Then I went to the showcase and took some candy
and in the half light of the shaded electric lamp my eyes
fell on the cash register. I crept across the floor to it
and stretched my hand out to open it, but I hesitated. Why
not take it? I was Stealing grub, why not money? I
reached out again but the cold metal made me feel as if
there were danger in opening it. I felt a thrill go through
my body. I had half a notion to leave it. I needed grub,
not money. I hadn't come to steal money. I pressed the
button and the drawer shot out. There was a bill there
and some change. I took it. There was thirteen dollars
and twenty-five cents. If I ever get where I can make
some money, I shall pay for everything that I have taken.
I left the store through the back door that was fastened
from the inside, swung the sack on my back, and ran for the
dock. The tide was out and I dodged along in the shadow
of the piles. The sack was heavy and the excitement was
about to wear off. I half wished that I hadn't done it, but
it was too late to repent now. It was done and it was

66 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
up to me to make a get-away with the goods. The boat
that I had seen by the corner of the dock was left high and
dry by the tide. I cut the ropes and dragged the thing
down. There were oars in the bottom and soon I was
rowing out of the harbor, out into the stormy fiord.
As I got out from the shelter, the waves became higher
and higher and the wind came in great gusts that threatened
to blow the light skiff out of the water. I had to keep close
to the rocky shore to get the shelter of every protruding
rocky point. I rowed and rowed with all my might, yet I
made but little progress against the wind and the incoming
tide. Now and then between gusts there was a calm spell
and I would row frantically to make the best of it. I
rounded the first point and was out of sight from the
town and I was thankful, for day was breaking. I made
good time in the cove but at the next point the wind roared
with a mighty voice and the breakers thundered against
the rocky beach. But I had no choice, I must go ahead, I
couldn't go back. I pulled and pulled and watched the
land to see if I made any headway, while the wind tugged
at my little craft and wave after wave banged against the
bow and broke over the top. "By God!" I yelled, "I can't
go back. I must go ahead," and pulled and swore like mad.
I battled there in the early dawn with wind and wave, won
dering sometimes if I were sane. My fingers and arms
ached and the spray of the breakers fell in a constant
shower over my back and shoulders. The storm slacked
a bit and I rowed as I had never rowed before, past the
point and into the next cove. I could see that the next
point was harder still to pass but there was no place to
land in the cove I was in, for the mountains rose straight
up from the beach, so I had to keep on, for I couldn't go
back. It was now clear daylight. The waves broke in
over the bow and forced me back but I rowed on, cursing,
laughing, yelling like mad. But I made the point and got
into another cove. There was no landing place there. Only
bare, inhospitable rocks and the cliffs, and I had to round

A FALSE MOVE 67
another point. Again I drove the bow of the boat into the
breakers and the battle began anew. Wave after wave
broke over the bow. The boat was getting heavy, it was
filling up. Oh, the agony as I pulled and pulled against
the hopeless odds! I reached the point and could have
rounded it, but the boat was about to sink so I had to
stop rowing to bail out with my hat, and I drifted back into
the cove again. Then I drove her out into the storm again,
into the storm and battle. I pulled and pulled and pulled,
and swore and cried and yelled in defiance of the elements.
Finally I got around but there was no place to land, only
bare, straight walls. I had to go round the next point. I
was plumb crazy, mad with determination to go ahead
and not go back. I didn't notice that my boat was filling
up and getting water logged, I just rowed and swore and
strained against the storm. Then a wave broke over the
side and I lost one of my oars. I was perilously near
the rocky shore and my boat was sinking beneath me.
I swung it around and faced the stern to the beach, for
there was only one way out and that was to get ashore.
A wave lifted my boat high up and then dashed it upon
a pile of rocks. The jar sent me headlong into the bottom
of the boat and as I scrambled to my knees, my hands fell
on the sack of grub. The skiff was fast between two giant
bowlders but every wave that dashed up shook it and tore
at it to take it back out in the water. I scurried out,
dragging my sack onto the rocks, and the very next wave
that came tore the boat loose so that it drifted along the
shore, bottom up. The cliffs went straight up from the
beach but there were a lot of giant rocks along the edge
of the water. The high tide would cover these and it was
up to me to get somewhere before high tide. So> I started
along, climbing from rock to rock, slipping and falling on
the slimy seaweed, dragging my sack of grub with me. In
places I had to wade along in the water where the cliffs
rose straight up. It was a wonder that there was a foot
hold at all and that the crashing, sucking waves did not

68 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
knock me over and drag me into the fiord; but someway
I got along, careless and weary though I was. I fell time
after time, now skinning my. knees and shins, now cutting
my hands on a sharp rock, yet I got along, carrying my
bag full of grub. I had no doubt that the flour was spoiled
but I didn't stop to investigate till I reached a cove where
I could get up into the brush away from the tide, the
wind and the eyes of passers-by who might be looking
for me.
I was all in and so tired that I didn't care to eat. I tried
to sleep but the cold began to shake my wet body and
cramps to knot my muscles. I felt that I must eat' and
keep going till I found some place where I could build
a fire and camp and rest without being afraid of being
seen by the men who were, no doubt, looking for me.
I ate some biscuit (they were not as wet as I had im
agined) and a can of meat and drank a can of milk. Then
I felt better and my face began to burn and my pulses
to throb. I sorted the grub and cached part of it under a
log where it would be dry. Some of it was spoiled but in
an emergency I could use it, so I cached it safely away.
^he rest I made into a pack and started along the beach.
The sky cleared and the sun came out, but still the wind
kept blowing and I knew that I was tolerably safe along
the beach, for no one would venture out on the fiord in
such a wind and sea.
I found a good place to build a fire and had another
feed, and after sleeping a few hours, I was almost myself
again and none the worse for my experience except for a
few cuts and bruises. Then I started out again along the
beach. Toward evening I came to a creek that came out
of a deep canyon. Up it I went and found a nice place
under a great, leaning spruce tree where the ground was
dry, and here I am now, a fugitive from justice, and it's
all of my own making. I do wish that I could undo what
I have done but there's no chance of that for a while.
Not till I can earn some money and send it to the man that

A FALSE MOVE 69
owns the store. I still have her ring on my finger and it is
a great comfort to me, the only thing that tells me that she
is real and not a dream. But if she thinks I have for
feited my right to it, I shall send it back to her when I
can. It is nice and comfy here and I would like to stay
but that cannot be. I must go onward to somewhere.

In jail, Skagway, Alaska,
Sept. 2, 1914.
The inevitable has happened. I am in jail. The thing
that I have run away from, dodged and escaped time and
again, has finally caught up with me and engulfed me, and
I am a prisoner. The heavy thud of the iron barred door
has sounded behind me, and the clatter and clang of bolts
and locks have sealed my doom. I am caught ! A criminal
in prison !
I spent the night, two nights ago, walking the beach and
climbing the cliffs where they rose straight up from the
water. I was on my way toward Haines. I was on the
wrong side of the fiord but I thought that perhaps I could
make a raft of logs and paddle across the five miles of
Lynn Canal when I reached the place that was opposite
the town. I had slept well during the day and now I
was using the darkness to make sure I wouldn't be seen.
It started to rain again during the night and the brush
was wet and slippery, SO' I often slipped and fell head
long among the thorns and devilclubs. It was a good
thing the moon came out, for in the darkness I could never
have made it. I climbed up on high benches where the
walking was good, through open timber, then I'd have to
go down to the beach again and up and down, up and
down all night long.
At the break of day, I came to where a mountain stream
tumbled down a rocky gorge. There was no way to cross
near the beach, so I followed up the canyon, but as far as
I could see there was no place where a man might ford.
Up on a high cliff stood some dead burnt spruce trees. I

70 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
selected a long pole and placed it across the creek where
it ran through a small box canyon, and then I crawled over
the bending, swaying pole a hundred feet above the rushing
mountain stream. I was careless, awfully careless, yet,
somehow I didn't care. What if I should fall and die?
It wouldn't be so bad. I was only a criminal running away
from the consequences of my crime. I wouldn't be the
first one to have died out in the woods all alone. The
thought gave me some comfort; just to lie down and sleep
and wake no more to struggle on.
I reached the beach again and stepped along from rock
to rock. Ahead a mountain rose straight up from the
water a thousand feet or more into the low hanging clouds.
I had to climb again to pass it. Up and up and up I
climbed, through brush and forest. It seemed as if I'd
never get there. I tried to walk along the side of the
mountain but a straight cliff stopped me and I had to keep
on up through the misty clouds that hung like veils in the
tops of the trees and over the canyons. It must have
been a thousand feet or more to the top of that cliff.
When I finally reached the top I found a narrow trail
running along and I saw tracks of fox and wolf and bear.
It was the thoroughfare of all the animals that passed
along that way, for a little way back another cliff rose
straight up for another thousand feet. I felt as if I were
one of them, just an animal moving along. Just a bit
of vagrant life without a den, moving ever on and on. It
seemed ages since I had left the town. It seemed so
very far away and I felt more at home where I was. The
trees, the brush, the moss, everything around me was life.
I felt as if I belonged to it, and it to me. At one place I
lay down on the soft moss, crawled to the edge, and looked
down over the cliff a thousand feet above the fiord. I had
then an almost irresistible desire to throw myself off into
the wild and wondrous beauty of it. The long fiord
stretched below me, the golden yellow of the autumn leaves,
newly turned, the dark, spruce-clad mountainside where the

A FALSE MOVE 71
mist hung in the treetops like monster spider webs, and
the banks of fog floating along the cliffs like phantom
ships upon the breeze.
I could look over to Haines. A boat was leaving there,
steaming south. I wondered if I would ever get to go
south, too. I thought I didn't care. I thought I'd rather
live and die the way I was there in the woods. Life didn't
seem so much. To die, to die floating on the breeze, die
falling through the clouds to sweet oblivion. I was filled
with a wild desire to float upon the breeze like the mists
below. It was madness but such alluring madness ! I tore
myself loose from the spell that held me and backed away
from the edge, back to where I could only see the trees and
the moss and the sky, and then I was soon on my way
again along the age old trail. It was cold up there and
wet, and I couldn't lie down but had to keep on going to
keep warm. The trail led up over a hump of rocks and
then down into a valley through a long, deep gorge that
was filled with underbrush. The raindrops hung like
berries on the bushes and I received a shower bath every
time I touched one, yet I couldn't get much wetter than I
was, so I plunged recklessly down the canyon. About half
way down there was a widening in the gorge and there a
spruce tree spread down its limbs, forming a hut around its
base that was dry. I built a fire and ate and rested. But
I was anxious so I moved on before very long.
Down in the valley a mountain stream again barred my
way. I tried to wade across it but it was too deep and
swift and I had to go up along its bank, trying to find a
place to ford. I came on the animal trail that I had been
following and it led me up the bank of the creek to a
small bench with an eddy and a pool. A tree had fallen
across here a long, long time ago, and many animals had
crossed on it. It was only a small tree and the limbs had
all rotted away. There was a waterfall above and a water
fall below that was a hundred feet high or more, and the
air was so full of foam and water spray that the eight

y2 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
inch log looked as it if were floating. The constant roar
was deafening. I hesitated to walk across the log, slippery
from being always wet, but there was no other way, so I
had to do it. On the middle I slipped and fell, grabbing
hold of the log with hands and legs, and there I hung under
it, the rushing water tugging at my pack, my finger nails
trying to dig into the log to hold me fast. There were only
a few feet to the waterfall below and I didn't dare to let
go and take a chance of getting to the other bank through
the water. It couldn't be done, became the bottom of the
creek was solid rock worn smooth by rushing waters. The
log was slimy and I didn't dare try to get a new hold for
fear I would altogether lose the one I had. I felt myself
grow weaker. What was the use, anyway? It would only
be a minute, then sleep, rest, oblivion. Why not? I tried
to think of why not, and then I thought of her. My face
was near the hand where her dear ring encircled my finger.
Would I give up before I knew that she could never be my
friend again? No, I must do something. A stump of limb
was about four feet from my hand. If I could reach it,
maybe I could get across. I let go with one hand, holding
myself up with the other, and felt along the log to find
a crack or knot hole that would serve for a hold. I sank
lower and lower, my other arm giving out. The muscles in
it began to quiver and jerk. I couldn't hold on any longer.
I clawed at the log with my finger nails ; they sank in.
There was a rotten place and it held. I reached for the
limb and shinned my legs along and soon I was on the other
side of the stream, away from all danger. My finger nails
were broken back and the blood was gushing out from
under them. I hadn't noticed it while I was hanging there.
I tore my shirt and bandaged my hands, all the while won
dering why it was that I did not fall down that waterfall.
I wondered why I, who always swear and damn and curse
whenever I meet obstacles, invariably manage to get out of
the dangers I get into. I wondered where I got my
strength. My strength ! Indeed, I have to laugh. I was not

A FALSE MOVE .73
strong but weak, so weak that my knees were trembling,
while my finger nails, broken back in the middle, were ach
ing and bleeding. My strength ! What a mockery ! I
almost wished I had let myself go that time. It would
have been all over by now. No more cold, no more pain,
no more wet.
Yet I went down through the woods to the beach below.
There was a pile of huge rocks that had tumbled down
from the mountain. They formed a cave, deep and narrow
and dry inside. Also, it was out of sight from Lynn Canal.
A better place to rest I could never find, so I gathered some
wood, built a fire and went to sleep. My body rested but
not my mind. It wandered back over the road I had come.
I stumble over the rocks on the beach, up over the moun
tain, down the gorge to the stream and over across the log
again. I fall and hang in awful suspense, the water tugging
at my pack, my fingers painfully digging into the wood. I
am hanging helpless. Oh, what strained, agonizing pain !
I am freezing stiff, hanging there paralyzed with fear. I
hear the thunder of the waterfall below. What dreadful
death awaits me there ! I feel my arms give way. I am
sinking lower, lower; the water tugs at my pack and back.
It chills me through. My hands let go. I am falling, fall
ing! I woke and looked about. The fire was down to embers
and my teeth were chattering. I got some wood and
brought it back to roaring life again. Then I slept.
A noise awoke me and I saw that three men stood peering
in at me through the smoke. I looked around for some
way to escape, but I was in there and they were at the only
entrance. I walked out and saw that they carried guns.
There was a white man and two Indians.
"How are you ?" greeted the white man, looking me over
from head to foot. "What may you be doing here?"
"I'm resting," I answered. T have been prospecting up
in the mountains. Just came down to-day. I was lost for
a short while. I am going to< Skagway in a few days."

74 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
'This is a queer way to be prospecting," the man said.
"Where is your boat?"
"What do I want with a boat away up in the moun
tains ?"
The man looked me over again. "You're cold and wet,"
he said. "You'd better let me give you a ride to Skag
way." "No, thank you," I said with a smile. "There's a quartz
ledge up on that hill that I want to take a look at first.
Don't bother about me, I'm all right. I'll get to Skagway
by and by."
The man looked about impatiently. "Look here," he
said sternly and showed me a badge on his vest. "I'm the
U. S. Marshal and I want to search your camp."
"Go ahead," said I. "Search all you want to." I looked
around at the Indians to see if there was any way at all
to get away. They stood at a respectful distance and had
their rifles ready and pointed in my direction. There was
no way except to try a bluff.
The Marshal found my pack and opened it. "How
long," said he, "have you been out of town? Where did
you buy this grub? This is not the kind of grub a pros
pector carries around in the woods. You may not be the
man I want, but this looks mighty queer. You'll have to
come to Skagway with us and if you are not the man,
we'll take you back here if you wish it."
"No, no," I protested. "I want to stay right here. I'm
going to stake a claim out on yonder mountain. I have
been out about a week, if you want to know, and as to my
grub, I guess I can carry the kind of grub that I want."
I looked steadily at him. "I'll stay right here and mind my
own business, see."
"Come now, my man," the Marshall said with great au
thority, "that won't do. You'll have to come, there are
three of us. I guess you'll come."' He laughed.
The Indians came a little closer and I knew that the
game was up. "All right, I'll go along," I said, and crawled

A FALSE MOVE 75
down through the woods to the beach where their boat was
moored against a rock. I kept on the alert for a chance to
escape. On board the boat I became sullen and morose. My head
was fairly splitting with a headache. What did I care,
anyway? I was tired and sick. My fingers ached agoniz
ingly. I was miserable. What did I care what became of
me? It couldn't be much worse than what I was suffering
just then.
We reached Skagway in the evening and the Marshall
took me up to the jail. There they searched my clothes
and took everything away from me, except my diary note
book. They let me keep that, strange as it may seem. If
they had opened it and read, they would have had the
whole miserable story to use against me. They shoved me
into the cage. Then came the heavy thud of the door, the
rattle and clang of the lock and bar, and I was in jail.
My head was thumping as if it were about to burst. I
was sick and broken, down and out. I was at the bottom
of the pit. I crawled into a bunk in one of the cells and
faded away.
Oh, blissful sleep that takes away the horrible realities of
life and gives man the strength he has lost and soothes his
mind with tender dreams ! I dreamed I saw the place I call
my home. I saw my girl — the sweet beauty of her sun
bathed cheeks! She put her hand upon my brow. It was
cool and soft. I wept as in a deep sorrow, my head upon
her breast.
"Oh, Svend," she cried, "do not weep. All will be well.
All is grist, Svend, all is grist that goes to the mill. All
your sorrows, trials and hurts are but the material for a
better life, a better life for you and me." I fell asleep on
her loving breast and slept in peace.
Something rattled and I woke up to the realization of my
plight. I was in jail! The jailer rattled his keys against
the bars. "Get up for breakfast," he shouted, and I rolled
out. The barred windows made me shiver. I am caught

76 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
and caged, I thought. The solid walls and iron bars i The
things I always dreaded ! I had a desire to dash against
the door and try to break it but the jailer stood there, eye
ing me curiously. My food was brought and shoved
through a wicket in the door. I ate it ravenously, for I was
very hungry. Then I looked about me. The place was
clean; the blankets I had slept in were warm and new.
There was a heater in the center of the cage and a brisk
fire was burning there. Another prisoner came in. I eyed
the door with thoughts of making a dash for it, but the
jailer closed it in a hurry.
The other man was short and old, rather craven looking,
with a fat, greasy face and small, piggish eyes. "What are
you in for ?" he asked.
"Don't know," said I.
"Burglary, the jailer said it was," he volunteered, but I
didn't answer.
Burglary, I thought. I'm a burglar. The window bars
filled me with a panicky dread. I paced round the cage
and thought of how I had seen animals in the Zoo pacing
back and forth just like that.
The jailer came with the Marshal. They handcuffed me
and took me up in the building to a room where several per
sons were assembled.
The Marshal stated how he had found me, and the man
who owned the store I had robbed stated that the grub in
the sack had come from his store. The lettering on my
piece of bacon fitted the half that had been left in the store.
Then they asked me how I came to have the stuff and I told
the whole truth from beginning to end.
Burglary and grand larceny, they called it, and the judge
laid that he could not sentence me, but would have to send
me to Juneau, bound over for the grand jury, or something
like that.
They took me down to the cage again and locked me up.
I didn't know what it meant to be bound over for the grand
jury so I asked the other prisoner.

A FALSE MOVE 77
"You'll go to Juneau," he grinned. "You'll get five
years." Five years like this ! A beast locked up in a cage ! I am
not fit to live free in society, so they will keep me locked up
for five years. The barred windows fill me with a wild
madness. I feel like a beast and I don't think I shall stay
here very long. I know that I shall die, or go crazy, if
they keep me locked up like this. I don't know how I'll get
out but I can't stay here.

CHAPTER X
ACROSS THE GLACIER
Pleasant Camp, Alaska.
Sept. 8, 1914.
IT seems a long time since I wrote anything in my diary.
I have many things that I ought to write down while
they are still fresh in my memory and the pain and
danger are present and vivid to me. At night in jail I
planned and planned and planned. I would try to escape
the next day. I was now strong again and could stand an
other dash through the mountains. I would rush the jailer
when he opened the door, pull him in and lock him up, or
take his gun and run. I would not, could not, live like this,
locked up like a beast. I'd rather die. So I planned and
planned all night long.
In the morning the jailer came and called through the
wicket in the door. "Jake," he called. "Oh, Jake, it's time
to get up and build the fire. Oh, Jake !" Jake was dead
to the world.
"Damn that man," he swore, and opening the door, came
into the cage to shake him in his cell.
I stood all ready with my coat and hat on. My cell door
was half open. Now was the time ! I leaped out and
passed him in a flash. There was a crash and the door was
closed behind me. I turned the key and peeped through
the wicket in the door. The jailer was standing in the mid
dle of the floor, turning bewilderedly, yelling, "Jake, Jake,
Jake, Jake, Jake," pulling at his gun in his hip pocket. I
didn't wait to see if he got it out but ran as fast as I could
through the corridor and out into the yard. I ran around
the building and across a small creek, then across the rail-
78

ACROSS THE GLACIER 79
road tracks and up the mountainside. The brush closed in
around me and covered my way. I was free once more!
One doesn't realize what freedom is till one has been in a
cage. I ran up the bench a couple of miles, then down the moun
tainside again and slunk across the valley through the brush
like a hungry coyote.
I had to cross the Skagway river and I didn't dare go over
one of the bridges, so I selected a spot where I could not
be seen from the town, and plunged in, now swimming,
now stumbling over the stony bottom. Once on the other
side, after a swift survey of the opposite bank to be sure
no one had seen me, I crawled into the thick brush, found
a good place to sit down, and there I pulled off my clothes,
wrung them out, and put them back on again. Then I ran
again through the brush and over an unfrequented trail
that goes to Dyea.
In the Dyea valley I again had a river to cross but it only
reached above my knees a bit, so that was easy. I had
selected this route to Haines because it is the most impos
sible one. In fact, it is one that the Indians in the country
say cannot be made, as steep mountains and glaciers bar
the way. I have many times wanted to see if this could be
done and I figured that they would never look for me along
there. I moved slowly through the brush, over the logs
and across small creeks. Where there were open glades in
the timber I crawled on hands and knees for fear I might
be seen by some one. I felt like a wild animal in the jungle.
Then I heard the baying of dogs near by and the hair stood
up on the back of my neck. I wondered if they were hunt
ing me. I crawled ahead through the blueberry bushes on
my hands and knees. Then I came to a trail and I cursed
myself for not lying still when I had first heard the dogs. It
is the old White Pass trail, I thought, and then there was
a noise right ahead of me. I ducked down and crawled
back into the brush. I head a loud growl and two big dogs
came rushing through the brush toward me. I sat up on my

80 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
haunches and glared at them. "Mush on, you brutes," I
snapped out at them, for it would never do to let them think
that I was afraid. "Mush on, chuck, beat it, you curs,"
but the dogs circled round me and growled and barked.
A man came along the trail. I could see him but be could
not see me, for I was behind some brush. "Here," he yelled,
"Towser, Queen ! Come away from that porcupine." The
dogs barked on. Then the man fired his gun and the dogs
rushed away from me. The man passed and I crawled
along through the brush till I was out of sight, and then I
ran as fast as I could up the trail to get as far as possible
from those infernal hounds, even though they were not
hunting me.
I left the trail and struck up the side of the first moun
tain range I had to cross to get to Haines. It was a very
steep mountain but I found a wooded gulch that made a
gap in the wall and up I climbed. I felt as if I'd love to
live up there, just browsing along in the mountains. A bear
must be a happy cuss, I thought, when all he has to do is
to mosey around and feed all the time, and when winter
comes, just crawl into a hole and sleep. Why was I not a
bear? Up and up I climbed through thick forests of spruce
and jack pine with undergrowth of tangled blueberry bushes.
I ate continuously from right and left as I worked my way
through. There were blueberries, raspberries, salmonber-
ries, cranberries and huckleberries. There were plenty of
bear signs and I expected to come upon one any moment,
yet I was not a bit afraid. It seemed to me that bears were
friends compared' to what I was getting away from. My
way led up through long thickets of alders and longer steep
meadows of high wet grass. The alder thickets grew fewer
and soon there was only grass and moss, with here and
there a stunted, low spread scrub pine. I was wet to the
skin from the dew covered brush and grass, yet I was not
cold but fairly warm and comfortable from the great exer
tion of climbing.
Now the great cliffs stood straight and black out of the

ACROSS THE GLACIER 81
grassy slopes like giant guardsmen, with steep meadows of
moss and grass between, like green-gold streets that led
straight to heaven. Gophers and marmots came out and
peeped at me, whistled and disappeared in their holes.
They called from hole to hole and colony to colony, telling
of my approach. Had I only had a gun, I would have had
meat for supper. Supper? Yes indeed! The sun had
passed across the sky and now hung low in the west over
the peaks towards which I was making. I passed den after
den of marmots and they came out and sat on their
haunches, staring at me like prairie dogs. Grouse flew up
in flocks ahead and around me and I became violently hun
gry when I thought of all the juicy meat so plentiful about
me. I felt as if I were a degenerate animal without a hole to
crawl into, or a nest or a nice limb to sit on and sleep, and
not even able to use the food that was all about me in abun
dance. Yes, I was a man and couldn't live without my tools.
The climbing was growing more difficult as the evening
progressed. There were steep, rocky gorges where small
torrents came splashing down in countless cascades, and
there were long, steep rock slides that were liable to begin
sliding any time and grind one who happened to be upon
them, to atoms. I reached the snow line and wound my
way between the long patches of snow, often in mud up
over my ankles. The temperature was getting low and the
wind blew in chilly blasts from the glacier covered barrens
above. But the cold did not bother me much, for the
mountain was still steep and I was still strong and had
energy to keep warm. I knew that the night was near and
I wanted to get to the top of the range where I could look
down upon the Dyasenki glacier which I had to cross, so
I hurried up the muddy rocky lanes between the snow and
monster cliffs and reached a place where there was nothing
but rock and ice and snow. It wasn't steep but sloped gently
to the black and white peaks that marked the top of the
range. It began to grow dark but I could see the reflection of the

82 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
sun's descent and could keep on in the right direction. A
strong wind blew up ; banks of fog drifted in from nowhere
and a drizzly rain began to fall. The clouds shut out what
light I had, and left me with only the southwesterly wind to
guide by. It was dangerous to walk along after I could see
no more, for there were great cracks in the ice and I never
knew what moment I would fall down some precipice to
death. Still, I couldn't lie down on the snow or ice, so I
had to keep on and try to find some sheltering rock or cliff
to cuddle in behind.
There were patches of rocky, slushy, muddy snow where
I stumbled and fell repeatedly. My hands and feet were
wet and bruised and cold. I reached a cliff that towered
above me, enveloping me in complete darkness. I crept
along on hands and knees, trying to find a place to lie down,
and found a crevice in the rock. It was dry in there and
there was just room enough for me to squeeze in, and there
I sat and shivered in the night, a lost louse on the crust
of the earth. I tried to sleep but my teeth began to chatter
and my legs to cramp. I had to get out and rub and mas
sage my legs and beat my arms.
Thus the daybreak found me, chilled to the marrow, rub
bing life and warmth into my chilled limbs. As soon as the
blackness took on a grayish hue, I crawled down from my
resting place and slowly worked my way to the west. The
rain ceased but everything was enveloped in a heavy blanket
of fog. I could see nothing but the snow and rocks a few
feet ahead of me but I knew that the wind was southwest,
so I had a course. I also knew that the mountain was steep
on the Dyasenki side and that it would be very dangerous to
descend, more so on account of the fog. But I couldn't stay
up there so I kept on, down ever steeper slopes of rock and
snow. I came to a bench that was flat and even. Suddenly, the
wind and fog seemed to come straight up out of the earth
at my feet. I stopped short and sat down. Then the fog
parted and I looked down over the Dyasenki two thousand

ACROSS THE GLACIER 83
feet or more below me. A few steps more and I would have
been over the edge of a cliff to sudden death. I wondered
why it was that I hadn't kept on and I thought of Marian.
In my tired fancy it seemed as if she had held me back
and that it was for her that I must live.
Below me the glacier wound its way from inland ice
fields, a river of ice slowly, patiently moving to the sea. I
retraced my steps and went along the side of the mountain.
Soon I came upon a trail with tracks of goat and bear and
wolf. I followed it, for in my experience I always get
somewhere when I follow trails. It led along the moun
tainside and for a while I was afraid that it was leading
me inland to some pass through the coast range, but then it
dropped off down a deep gully to another bench and I was
sure that it was leading to the glacier.
The sky cleared and the sun came out and shone and
sparkled in the myriad things, the green-blue glacier, the
polished walls of rock by its sides, the creeklets plunging
down from rocky heights, the raindrops in the grass and
moss. The whole world was like a jewel-bedecked picture.
I was nice and warm again and had lots of vigor, but I was
hungry, awfully hungry. I drew my belt up and kept on
down the rocky slopes. The trail led me through canyons
and over benches and then into a narrow gorge between a
large cliff and the mountainside, the cliff being a slice of
the mountain that had broken off and was leaning over the
glacier, hesitating an age or two before taking the plunge.
There was a little creek running down the gorge and along
its sandy edges there were tracks of fox and wolf and bear
and lynx, and many other animals that had come that way.
The way was very narrow in places and once a rock had
fallen down and jammed above the trail, forming a tunnel
through which I had to crawl on all fours. Here and there
along the sides in the broken rock were long hairs of brown
and black bear, where they had rubbed along for countless
years. The trail led up quite steeply for a way and then
curved in and out again in a wide semi-circle, ending by

84 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
the open face of the mountain where I could look down to
the glacier a thousand feet or so below. Here the trail
led out onto a narrow shelf of rock where the moss was
beaten hard by many feet. It was only a few feet wide and
I walked along, hugging close to the mountain. I didn't feel
dizzy exactly, but several times at the beginning I felt cold
shivers go up my spine when I thought about falling and I
fought them by swearing and biting my lips and kept on,
trying hard not to look down. In some places it was so
narrow that I had hardly room enough to place my feet
and in other places it sloped till I expected every moment
to slide off and plunge down. In one place the rock above
was overhanging and I had to crawl, hunching along by
inches, and then another time it was only a crevice where
I had to step along face to the rock from foot hold to foot
hold, clutching with my hands at cracks and irregularities.
Again the trail led to> a narrow gorge in the side of the
mountain. This crack was even narrower than the last.
I could hardly squeeze my body through and I wondered
how on earth a bear could walk where I could hardly
squeeze through. I must have missed the trail somewhere
I thought and I pushed myself out of the crevice again. At
the entrance there lay a heap of large rocks, and sure
enough the trail led down through a hole under them. I
knelt down and peered in. It was dark in there and smelled
of animals. I fet uneasy about it as I crawled in a few feet,
then I thought I heard something move around inside and
there flashed into my eyes a pair of green, glowing spots. I
backed out hastily, the thing following me, spitting at me
like a cat and yawling weirdly. It was a lynx and I thanked
my stars that it didn't jump on me in there. I had had all
the underground traveling I wanted, so I looked about to
find another way. The walls were impossible everywhere
and there were only the hole and the gorge so I took the
gorge to see where it led. It went up and soon widened
out so I could walk with ease. It was only a couple of hun
dred feet long and then I came out on the face of the moun-

ACROSS THE GLACIER 85
tain again. I looked down and there a hundred feet below
me ran the trail, plain and even over a narrow bench leading
to a small knoll covered with brush and jack pine. The face
of the mountain below me was full of cracks and in them
grew bushes, jack pines and mountain birch. There was
also a crevice in the sloping face of the rock beginning at my
feet. It was full of moss and looked like a green velvet
border on gray granite. I tried it with my feet to see if it
would hold, for I had to go somewhere. It held and I
moved along step by step, clutching at what projections
there were. A jack pine grew about fifty feet away, only a
few feet below the crevice I was traversing. If I could
only get that far, I could let myself drop down to it and
from it to another one that grew a little below, and from
there it seemed easy to reach the trail. There were only a
few feet to go, when the moss gave way beneath my feet, my
knees banged against the face of the rock and I was falling.
I grabbed for the crevice with my hands but I got only two
handfuls of moss and kept on sliding, faster and faster, my
fingers scraping against the rock and my sorely broken
finger nails groping for a hold. I slipped by a clump of
brush, grabbed, and it held. There was a crevice by my
bleeding knees and they found a rest there. I looked down
and saw a jack pine ten feet below me and to one side, and
a little below it there was a small birch and from the birch
there were only a few feet to the bench where the trail ran.
The bench was only a few yards wide, showing a straight
fall of cliffs to the glacier below. I wasn't frightened,
strange as it may seem; my hands and knees hurt too much.
I gave a push, and dropping, grabbed for the tree. I got
hold of a limb but it broke and I fell against the rock and
rolled over and over. My head banged against something
and then all was dark, and I was falling!
I felt the sunshine on my face. Something was holding
me tight around the hips; something was pressing against
my head, and something seemed to have me by the throat.
My legs were hanging loose below me. I moved them and

86 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
they hit against something hard. My arms were held clore.
Then I opened my eyes and looked about me. I was hang
ing in a tree by the neck of my coat and my hips were
jammed in between the trunk of the tree and the face of
the cliff. A limb had caught under my coat and had come
out at the back of my head, and there I hung. Something
warm ran down over my face and lips. I tasted it. It was
blood and little by little I remembered how it came about.
I looked about more intelligently now. The trail was at the
foot of the tree, just a few inches from my feet. I squirmed
around to get my hips loose. My body was sore but I had
to free myself. I got my foot up in the crotch between
the tree and the wall and got loose; then I let myself slip
out of my coat to the ground. I could hardly stand and
everything went round and round. I got my coat down
with difficulty and walked slowly and wearily along the
trail to the knoll a little distance away. The brush there
was blueberry bushes, loaded with berries. A small stream
came splashing down the cliffs and ran tumbling over the
bench. There was a little pool below the fall and here I
knelt and drank my fill and washed my hurts. My head
had a deep cut on top and my hands and knees were skinned
and bruised, while my finger nails were aching beyond all
expression. The sun was low in the west so I knew it was
evening and I must have been hanging in that tree most of
the day. I felt very weak from loss of blood and lack of
food and I dragged myself over into the blueberry bushes.
Big, juicy blueberries! I ate some and then fell asleep on
the soft, mossy ground. When I woke up it was dark and
cold and blowing hard. A cold, drizzly fog was coming up
from the glacier and the fiord. My body was so stiff and
sore that I could hardly move it, and my head was hot and
jumping like a motor. Water ! I wanted water. My hands
and knees felt as if I were crawling on red hot irons as I
moved through the brush and over the pebbles, but I wanted
water more than comfort. I ducked my head in the little
pool and drank and soaked the fluid in, for while my body

ACROSS THE GLACIER 87
was cold and shivering, my head was hot. I wondered how
long I would last, for I thought that I was surely dying.
I wondered if I had better crawl over to the edge of the
cliff and let myself fall, and I imagined doing it and in the
middle of these imaginings I fell asleep again by the pool.
When I woke I was in a kind of stupor, delirious, imagining
all kinds of weird things but trying all the time to keep
control of myself. Thus I spent an age, now sleeping, now
raving, now bemoaning my hurts and cursing my luck. The
morning found me there, and, as the day grew brighter, I
started down along the trail. It ran down a small canyon
and thus it went clear down to the glacier.
My mind had grown clearer and my strength and ambi
tion had come back to me, and as soon as I limbered up, I
found that I was not as badly hurt as I had thought. My
head stopped aching and the cool water that I drank tasted
sweet and good. It was not so bad, after all.
Down at the edge of the glacier I could follow the trail
no more, for it was covered with rocks, large and small, but
I made out over them straight across the glacier. It was
very muddy between the rocks and became more so as I
progressed, but it grew less muddy again as I got farther
away from the edge and soon it was pure, milky ice. I
had =een several tracks back in the mud, so I was sure that
I was going in the right direction, and as I followed a long
ridge of ice the trail gradually appeared again and the
honeycombed ice was broken and worn by many hoofs and
paws. In and out the trail wound its way, around deep
holes and along crevices that I dared not look into more
than once, for they were bottomless and my fall the day
before had unnerved me somewhat. Now I was crossing a
big table of green ice, now on a sharp ridge with sides slop
ing down, God knows how far. A misstep here would
mean not only death, it would mean cold storage till that
part of the glacier had moved three or four miles down to
the sea, to be melted and carried away. In one place I had
to jump over a deep crevice. It was only about four feet

88 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
wide but it looked tremendous to me. It took all the
strength of will I had to jump it and once across I threw
myself on the ice, clutched it and screamed with terror.
The fall of the day before had surely unnerved me. I
pulled myself together, for it would never do to get hysteri
cal. I could never cross that awful glacier that way. On
and on, over sharp ridges and through sink holes I hurried,
then through the mud and over the rocks to safe land again.
I didn't look back for I was glad to be away from it and
I never wanted to see the place again.
Then I went up over the second mountain range. It was
not nearly as high as the first one, nor as steep. Once on
top, I could look over the Chilkoot valley with the river and
the lake. I could see the Chilkoot cannery with the many
fishing boats lying round in the inlet. I thought of all the
food that was down there. Oh, for a bit of food! I was
starving. I hurried down to the steep meadows where berries grew
and spent a hour or so eating to my heart's content. Then I
hurried down the hillside again and was soon below in the
valley. Once there I had to be careful, for there is an
Indian village at the lake and if any of them saw me, they
would surely stop me or at least talk about meeting me for
I was, no doubt, a sight.
I crawled cautiously through the brush, waded across the
Chilkoot river and struck into the woods again across the
valley and up the last mountain range that barred my way
to the Chilkat river and the road. I had changed my mind
about going to Haines and had decided to go to Klukwan,
up through Pleasant Camp and then to the interior some
where. I would rather be in there chopping wood over win
ter in White Horse or Dawson for my board than to be in a
penitentiary for five long years. So, although I dreaded
going over that mountain, I kept on.
I was beginning to get downright exhausted now. I was
so weary that I wanted to lie down every moment. It
seemed as if I had been going steadily for a week or more.

ACROSS THE GLACIER 89
Every time I slipped on some root or stick, and fell, I
wanted to stay down and never get up again, and it seemed
as if I kept falling after I had hit the ground. The brush
was so thick and tangled that breaking through was hard
and slow work. The sticks caught in my rags and made
them even more ragged. They knotted in tangles in front
of me and constantly held me back. There were thickets of
devilclubs and my arms and legs got full of stickers, but
I kept on, for I had to reach Klukwan before I'd get any
thing to eat. I saw several bear tracks but that didn't worry
me, for I was too tired to bother about anything but my
hurts and my hunger. It was the lack of real food that ailed
me, for my stomach cramped agonizingly and the berries
didn't seem to do any good. I would sit down or lie down
and rest, but not for long, for I kept falling asleep and I
needed to get over that last mountain. I knew I would
never make it that day but I wanted to keep on as long as
I possibly could.
On a rabbit trail I came upon a lynx engaged in eating a
rabbit. It saw me, hunched its back, and stood there spit
ting at me, its hair all standing erect. I made a stumble at
it, for a dash it could hardly be called, and it scurried off into
the brush in a hurry, leaving the half eaten rabbit on the
ground. It had only eaten the head and the forelegs and I
ate the rest. Yes, I sat down there and tore the red, bloody
meat with my teeth and crunched the bones while the lynx
circled around me in the brush, yawling angrily. It tasted
good to me and I ate it every bit except the skin and guts.
It gave me strength and again I moved up the everlasting
upward trail.
My shoes were going fast. The soles were all right but
the uppers were almost entirely worn out and the sides of
my feet were full of stickers. My feet were sore and bleed
ing but my stomach was digesting that rabbit and it kept
sending new strength through my body and I kept right on
climbing and crawling. When I got out of the timber and
up on the open, grassy slopes the wind began to blow and

90 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
soon it began to snow. Now I had another obstacle to fight.
The hillside became very slippery and I fell down again and
again, till I thought that I would never make it. I thought
about turning back but I was near the top of the range so
I kept on.
It cleared for a while just before dark and I saw that I
was in a gap in the range like a pass with high, round moun
tains on each side. I hurried over the rounding saddle and
was soon on the Chilkat slope. Another snow storm was
approaching. It looked like a tremendous white wall rush
ing along. Then it closed in around me and I was in a cellar
with white walls. It grew darker and darker but I couldn't
get lost now. All I had to do was to go down hill. It must
have been snowing all day on this side of the range, for the
snow was about a foot deep and much deeper whsre it had
drifted. Through the dark and the deep snow it was im
possible for me to see where I was going. I knew that this
side of the mountain was broken and precipitous and that
there were numerous cliffs and holes and clear dropoffs, but
I had to trust to chance to get me through, for to stay up
there would mean sure death from the cold and I couldn't
go back. So I kept sliding and plunging through the snow.
I was numb with cold and far past the hurting stage, except
when I stumbled over the rocks, and then I hurt all over.
When I fell I didn't want to get up but lay whimpering,
thinking that I was all in and sure to die. The wolves
would tear my flesh and scatter my bones far and wide and
no one would ever know what had become of me. Then when
the cramps began to draw my muscles into knots I would
force myself to rise and stumble down through the snow.
Man is surely a poor excuse for an animal that he must
have clothes to be warm. Warmth! Oh, if I only could
have warmth ! I felt as if I had no feet and an icy hand
seemed to be pressing against my backbone, but I stumbled
on. I couldn't stay on my feet in places but had to sit
down and slide. I didn't care much for anything any longer
but let myself go as far as gravity would take me. It is a

ACROSS THE GLACIER 91
wonder to me that I did not get seriously hurt, for it seemed
as if I were going pretty fast sometimes. After a while
there was no more snow and I came into the dark woods.
Here I could see nothing, so I sat down on my haunches
and slid little by little. It was remarkably smooth going
on the mossy slope. The moon came out and soon I could
see dimly where I was. I was safe on a sloping ridge with
a canyon on each side. By some miracle of chance I had
stayed on the back of the ridge and not slid down one of the
sides to the deep, precipitous creek bed in the canyon. The
timber was open and the mossy ground was good to walk on
but I was too sore and exhausted to appreciate it and just
stumbled downward. It seemed an age before I reached the
road in the valley of the Chilkat river. I walked along it
and saw by a mile post that I was ten miles from Haines.
I had thirteen miles to go before I could reach Klukwan!
I kept on up the road in a dazed, stupid fashion. In the
early morning I reached the Indian village.
There was no one in sight, so I walked right through to
where one of my friends lived and knocked on the door.
My friend came out from behind the house where he had
been splitting wood.
"Well, of all the men I ever expected to> see, you are the
last," he exclaimed when he recognized me. "But, Svend,
where have you been ? You look sick. What's the matter?"
An expression of pain and sympathy passed over his face.
"Come on into the house and tell me about it." He held
the door open for me and I entered the warm, cozy kitchen
and sat down and told him my story. "I came this way
because I thought maybe you would lend me a rifle and
some grub to take me to the interior," I said, when I had
told him all as briefly as I could.
He looked sadly at me and shook his head from side to
side in sorrow. "You, Svend, in jail for burglary! My
God ! Sure, I will give you anything that I have that will
help you, but you must stay here for a few days and rest
up. You look almost dead. And you came from Skagway

92 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
to here overland ! Do you know that the Indians say that
is impossible? And without food! Great God, but you
must be hungry ! And you locked the jailer in," he chuckled.
His wife came down stairs. "How do you do?" she
greeted, and we shook hands. She tried to look pleasant
and not to notice my condition, kind woman, but I could
see the pity in her eyes and the friendly sympathy she had
for me.
Another friend came over to get his morning's milk. He
took in my condition at a glance. I was down and out. A
look of surprise and sorrow showed in his face. Then he
brightened up. "By the way, Svend," he said, "I am in need
of a helper very badly. Would you care to help me out? I
have some freighting to do to Pleasant Camp, and from
Haines here. That will be an all winter job if you care to
stay with us."
I knew he did not need a man. The Indians of Klukwan
could do as good work as any white man and would do it
cheaper than any respectable white man would care to do it.
He had seen my ragged clothing and wanted to help me out.
I thanked him and made him understand that I couldn't
stop. He didn't know what my trouble was but I told him
that the other friend would let him know when I had gone.
They gave me some clothes and heavy woolen under
wear and I took a hot bath and doctored my cuts and
bruises with iodine, then I ate breakfast with my friends.
I ate till I was ashamed of myself but they, good people,
understood how it was and were glad to have me fill up.
Then I got some blankets, grub, a gun and a pair of shoe
packs from the store. I had to get the shoe packs three sizes
too large because my feet were so badly swollen. My
friends insisted that I should stay but I knew that the mail
would be up that day and I didn't want to be there when
they read the papers. Nor did I want to have any one
see me there, not so much for my own sake as for that of
my friends who were helping me. So, although I was dead
for sleep and could hardly keep my eyes open when I was

ACROSS THE GLACIER 93
still for a moment, I /said good-by to them, swung the
ninety odd pounds of grub and blankets on my back, and
hurried away.
I had gone about a mile when I heard some one running
after me. I looked around startled, ready to plunge into
the bush. '
It was the missionary. "I want to say good-by to you,"
he said. "Sorry you can not stay. But two things I want
you to remember. If you are ever in need of a friend, don't
be afraid to come to me. I am your friend, no matter what
your circumstances may be. And remember there is one
above who keeps watch over us all at all times. God is good
and he will take care of you if you will but ask him. Good-
by, my boy. May God take care of you wherever you go."
He left me dazed and thoughtful. Surely God wa's good
to have given me friends like that, and there on the road I
sincerely asked Him to bless and keep those good people.
I didn't like to travel on the road, so at Wells where the
Klihinah empties into the Chilkat, I went to an Indian
friend who has a homestead there and told him I was in
trouble and wanted to cross the Chilkat above Klihinah. I
didn't have to say much, for an Indian needs only a few
statements to understand and he draws his own conclusions
as to details. He took me across the river in his canoe.
"I wish I was going with you," he said, and looked wist
fully up the valley, "but I must stay here and take care
of my foxes. Too bad, too bad," he shook his head slowly.
"When you come back, come see me. Tell Paddy I am all
right." We shook hands and he paddled back across the
river. Once more I was alone with miles and miles ahead of me.
But I had a pack of grub on my back and a gun ; enough to
last me three months and a lot longer if I took good care
of it and lived mostly on the country. So I was not lone
some, but I was awfully, awfully tired. The hot coffee and
the warm food had stimulated me for the time being but
now I was fast giving out. It began to rain and I realized

94 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
that I couldn't possibly make Boulder Creek where there
was an old, deserted cabin, so I forded the Klihinah and
made for Sunshine Hill where a friend of mine has a home
stead. It took me quite a while to go the last mile or two,
for my legs kept giving way under me in the most remark
able fashion and I had become ravenously hungry again.
My friend was not at home but the door was open and I
went in and soon had cooked and eaten a meal. Then I
fell into a stupor on the bed.
Late the next morning I awoke and got up and looked
about. I had never been there before, though I had known
the owner a long time. There was a little clearing around
the cabin, and as I stepped out of the door into the garden,
a grouse flew up to a branch in a nearby spruce tree with a
loud whirr of wings, while a couple of rabbits scurried out
of the cabbage patch into the woods. I hurried in and got
my rifle and the grouse made my breakfast. A small river
ran right past the house, and as I went down for water, a
flock of ducks splashed off the little boat landing and swam
quacking down the stream. Surely it was a beautiful place
to live. The cabin was clean and snug. There were a table,
two chairs, two beds, a writing desk and a cook stove, with
pots and pans hanging on the wall in orderly fashion. I
imagined my own cabin would look like that with her to fill
it with cozy love and happiness. Then I realized how hope
less my ever having a home of my own had become. I was
an outlaw and had to sneak around or hide, in order to keep
out of the penitentiary. How could I ever have a home in
Alaska and how could I ever expect her to trust me, a felon,
a burglar, an outlaw. I threw myself on the bed and cried
and wondered if I really had a friend in the world, and
then I remembered what the missionary had said to me and
I asked God to help me build my home, and while I was
doing that, I thought of the dream I had had of her and
I remembered the words she spoke, "All is grist, Svend. All
is grist that goes to the mill." Then I felt better and
stronger.

ACROSS THE GLACIER 95
I ate breakfast and doctored my feet, picking out all the
devil-club stickers and applying iodine to the cuts. Then
I rolled up my pack and said good-by to the nice place, leav
ing a note to the owner on the table, and started out again
over the trail.
The morning was clear and cold, with frost on the
ground, and the air was very exhilarating. I was sore at
first but soon I limbered up, and barring a few cuts and
bruises, was in fairly good shape. I kept on at a pretty
fast gait, for I wanted to get to Pleasant Camp that night
and I had seventeen miles to go. Part of the way I fan at
a trot, the Indian trot as Pete calls it, a kind of lope that
gets a man over the trail faster than any other gait that I
know. My lungs expanded and I drew in great draughts
of pure, sweet air. I gloried -in the beautiful woods, the
glorious sunshine and the many colored leaves. Ah, but
the woods are beautiful in the fall of the year. I had no
time to worry about what was going to happen to me. I
was on the trail and going somewhere through the most
beautiful of days and I was glad to be free now and would
be happy while I was free.
Soon I was off Sunshine Hill down in the Klihinah flats
where the river winds its way, criss-crossing the wide,
gravel-strewn valley that is its bed. Past Cottonwood Point
I ran where the skeletons of old time stampedes still stand
in the form of blown down shacks, tent poles and frames
for large tent houses and barns.
I sneaked around Porcupine and towards evening I
crossed the foot bridge over Jarvis river, went up a steep
bank about a hundred feet or so, and then I was across the
line. Now I could scoff at the marshalls and the jailers if
they came to get me. At last I was really safe, for the time
being, anyway, for there were no police nearer than White
Horse. A narrow trail took me to the bridge across the
Klihinah and soon I was in Pleasant Camp. I didn't think
that anybody was there, so I put my pack in one of the

96 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
empty cabins and after gathering some wood, began to
build a fire.
Some one came and opened the door. I whirled around
and grabbed my rifle and then I saw that it was a man I had
known in Haines.
We shook hands and he asked me where I was going. I
told him that I had gone to White Horse and found nothing
to do there, then had gone to Skagway and found condi
tions still worse, so I had decided to go to the interior again,
taking the Kluane trail to the Shushanna district, where I
thought I might get something to do.
"Well, well," he said; "you sure are some traveler. I
wish that I were as young and strong as you. Come on
down and stay with me and the missus. We got lots of
bedding. You can sleep on the floor. It is a lot better than
staying here."
"All right," I said, Til come over as soon as I've had
something to eat."
"No, no, you come right with me," and he took my pack
which I had not yet unrolled. 'Gee whiz," he exclaimed,
"what have you got in it, lead ? Why, it must weigh ninety
pounds or more. Leave that fire alone, the missus will
make you a better lunch than you can ever make."
This is the next day and it is evening. I have been writ
ing all day and the missus asked me if it were a book. But
it is done now and to-morrow I start for the interior. My
host says that there is snow on the summits now and I sup
pose I shall have a hazardous trip. But it is all in the game
and I have to make it.
I am going to send this long diary to you Marian, and it
may be the last installment for a long time. I know that I
shall meet danger up there in those great wastes but don't
worry about it, for I feel stronger and more capable than I
ever did in my life before and I have a good chance of mak
ing it through. If I stay in there over winter, you may per
haps not hear from me till next summer, but if I can send a
letter, I will. Good-by, Marian, Svend.

CHAPTER XI
INDIAN FRIENDS White Horse,
Sept. 19, 1914.
I LEFT Pleasant Camp early in the morning ten days
ago. It was a wonderful, bright morning that filled me
with zest and confidence in myself. The roofs of the
cabins and bare spots on the ground round about were
covered with a sparkling frost. It was the kind of a morn
ing that makes one want to run into the woods, whoop, and
jump about enjoying life. That was just the way I felt
as I started out and my hosts said good-bye and urged me
to come and see them on my next round. "Anyway," the
missus said, "drop us a line and let us know how you fare
in there."
I walked away at a rapid pace, wondering if they would
regret having been so nice to me when they learned what
a terrible outlaw I really was. I was now alone again and
the chances were that I wouldn't see any one till I reached
Dalton Post, seventy-five miles away. I thought of Dalton
Post, Paddy and Princess, and knowing that I was welcome
there, almost dreaded going. Would they tempt me to
stay and become a squaw man? I knew they would tempt
me but would I do it ? I would be safe there. The Indians
would never let any one catch me, once I had joined their
tribe. They would let me know in advance if any one was
coming for me and there were countless out of the way
places where I could go where my capture would be practi
cally impossible. And Princess would always be with me.
We'd live a wild, free, fearless life out there in the moun
tains, hunting and trapping for our living. It seemed al-
97

98 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
most too good, yet I shuddered at the thought. I would
never get to the outside again. I would be chained there,
not only by the bonds of marriage and by my children, but
by fear of the authorities who would know where I was
and would be on the lookout for me at all times. And I
would never even dare think of Marian again. No, no, no, I
wouldn't stay in Dalton Post. I would hurry through to
some place where I would be lost to the authorities and be
really free once more. I put thoughts of Dalton Post and
Princess out of my head and paid attention to the scenery.
Of course, when I write thus of Princess in my diary that
I know Marian will read, I am going against all precedent.
When a man loves a girl, he should, no doubt, think of noth
ing but her and never for a moment imagine marriage with
another woman. At least, he should never let his girl know
that he does. But though I love Marian and her only, I am
writing the truth in my diary and I feel that I must tell the
whole truth or nothing at all. Under the circumstances, it
is only natural that I should consider Dalton Post.
I came through the diggings ! my diggings ! I did not en
joy that one bit.
I hurried on, keeping my eyes on the scenery about me.
The mountains were truly wonderful. The road to Rainy
Hollow ran up at an easy grade toward the summits ahead.
There was snow up there where I must go and there was
new snow on the tops of the mountains around me. I felt
small and weak when I realized the magnitude of the things
and forces around me. What if I should get sick up there
in the mountains ? What if I should fall and break my leg
or get hurt so I could not travel ? What if I should meet a
grizzly bear determined on my destruction? What if I
should drown in one of the many streams I had to cross?
What if I should be caught in a blizzard up there in the
vast, white desert? Fear, sickly, clammy fear was slowly
gripping me. I stopped and sat down with a feeling of
weariness and cowardice. Then I thought of what the
missionary had said and I asked for strength and somehow

INDIAN FRIENDS 99
my fears faded away and I got up and moved on and was
happy once again.
Up to the east of Rainy FIollow a monster glacier comes
straight down a steep canyon between two< mountain peaks.
A giant, frozen avalanche of blue ice, mud and bowlders is
sliding slowly down and as it reaches the foot of the can
yon, melts into a gray muddy stream that tumbles, rumbles
and roars down through deep canyons and over wide flats
and is called the Klihinah.
Here ended the Rainy Hollow road. I took a steep trail
that led up Mineral Mountain, one of the Rainy Hollow
copper mountains. When I got up above the alders I left
the trail, climbed to a small knoll and looked back over the
country that I had passed through. Away down below me
was the Klihinah, like a white streak from rapid to rapid,
far down the valley as far as I could see, till the mountains
swallowed it. The sun shone beautifully on the dark green
forest below, spotted with patches of brown, red, and yel
low-gold of the cottonwoods, birch and willow. Here and
there in the depth of the forest shone small lakes like mir
rors in the sunshine, and about it all was the pearl studded
frame of the snow-capped, glacier-adorned mountains. The
air was cool and refreshing and a fine breeze came up from
the canyon. It was so wonderful that I wanted to embrace
it all and live in it forever. Yet, there was something mis
sing. I longed for a mate to share with me the beauty of
it all. Oh, if I only could have had my mate at my side
and said, "This is all our own. This whole world was made
for you and me to live in and be happy."
But I had no time for idle dreaming. I had to push on,
for the sun was about as high as it would get that day and
I had a long way to go before I would reach my first camp
ing place.
The bench that I was on ran up by a clear, tumbling creek
so I stopped in a hollow and had dinner.
"Keep well to your left," Paddy had told me once about
this short cut. "Keep well up on the left side of the canyon,

ioo ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
and when you get to the first lake, go right over the range
to the left." So I kept on the left bank of the creek, up
over a series of benches that were like giant stairs leading to
the sky. There was a thin film of snow on the ground and
the wind grew chilly. There were numerous whistling mar
mots and gophers making ready for the winter, I think, for
they were rushing around with bunches of moss and grass
in their mouths. And there were many tracks of caribou,
moose and goats, but they were very old. I came to the
place where the creek ran out of a lake but here the moun
tains rose almost straight up on my left and it was impos
sible to go over with my pack on my back. Then I began
to wonder if I were lost, if I had misunderstood Paddy and
if it were to the right that I should go. The snow grew
thicker as I climbed higher and the lakes were filmed over
with ice. Winter was coming fast up there.
I finally reached the summit and looked over the other
side of the range. A wonderful sight greeted me. Below
was the prettiest .valley I have ever seen; green velvet grass
everywhere, rolling hills and long benches of it, with a string
of lakes down the center of the valley, connected by a tiny
stream, like a silver necklace set with great sapphires.
There was no wind down there, although a fresh breeze
was blowing around me, and the reflections of the opposite
mountains filled the lakes with fairy mysteries. I had to
stop and wonder at it but the cold wind soon spurred me on.
This was, no doubt, the lake that Paddy had spoken of, for
to my left was a natural grade over the mountain.
I soon reached the summit and there again was a lake on
the very top of the range. There was no ice here, for it was
spread open to the winds that kept it in constant motion.
A flock of ducks had settled on the water for a rest on their
southward journey. They were tired, no doubt, for they
allowed me to come quite close. Smack ! smack ! spoke my
automatic rifle and with much splashing and quacking they
rose from the water and flew to the other end of the lake
where they settled again. But two of them were left be-

INDIAN FRIENDS 101
hind and lay at the edge of the shore. I pulled them in with
my gun, drew them and strapped them on my pack.
A level stretch of mountain top lay ahead of me, and, as
I was cold, I broke into a run. Never before did I run so
far with a pack on my back without stopping to catch my
breath. I marveled at the ease with which I covered the
ground. Now the trail went down hill and below me as far
as the eye could see stretched Mosquito Flats, while far
away to the north was a little grove of trees in a hollow.
That was where I intended to camp for the night. There is
an old cabin there and it is called Glacier Camp. I ran
down through a long canyon to the flats. This was a ptarmi
gan country, and from every patch of willows that I plunged
through, families of them flew up and whirred off a hundred
feet or so and then hid in the grass. I must have scared a
thousand or more of them as I walked along that afternoon
but I did not kill any, as the big mallard ducks were a-plenty
for me for supper and breakfast.
I crossed a creek in the middle of the flats and came upon
the old Dalton trail which made a straight line for Glacier
Camp. In every muddy or sandy place I saw lots of tracks
of bear and wolf. They use the trail to cross from the Alsik
valley to the Chilkat valley and no doubt went that way long
before man ever did.
Glacier Creek comes out from a deep canyon and crosses
the flats three times, and each time it crossed I had to ford
it through the ice cold, rushing water reaching to my waist.
Finally, after much wading and getting frozen stiff with
the water, I got into the grove of spruce trees that I had
seen from afar on the summit. Another mile, and as the
sun settled down behind the round mountains to the west,
I made camp by the old rickety cabin called Glacier Camp.
There was wood and a stove in there and I tried to make
a fire but it smoked so badly that I made a fire outside and
put on my tea water and rice. Then I plucked one of the
ducks, fried a slice of bacon, cut the duck meat in slices and

102 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
fried it in the grease with a little water. Soon my supper
was ready and I sat down to eat by the fire.
Suddenly I heard a noise behind the cabin, and as I
reached for my gun, I saw through the smoke and the eve
ning gloom a dark object come out through the brush. I
jumped to my feet but soon saw that it was a man, an In
dian. It was Hokashanta John.
"Hello," he greeted, "where you going?"
"Inside," said I. "Sit down and have a cup of tea. You
eat supper yet?"
"Yes, I eat."
"All right, have a cup of tea, anyway. Where you go ?"
"I go Haines. I catch young fox. Black fox. I go
Haines sell. I buy flour, bacon. I got two pack horse.
Maybe come back soon. You see Pete?"
"Yes," I answered, "Pete catch fifteen fox, ten days.
Two cross, one silver, twelve red. Pete rich man some
day." "You think so? Pete fine man. All same white man.
Pete fine Indian."
"How's Paddy?" I asked.
"Paddy, he Dalton House. He trap this winter, Clar
ence. Clarence fine man." Hokashanta John was evidently
fond of praising people. "You see Paddy, Dalton House,"
he continued. "You tell you see me all right."
"All right, I tell him," said I and got up and entered the
cabin. The conversation had lasted all through the meal,
for Hokashanta spoke with great intervals between sen
tences. He was an old Indian, rather small of stature, very
dark and wrinkled, with kind, twinkling, black eyes and an
exceedingly sparse mustache hanging down at the corners
of his mouth. I was about to roll out my blankets and make
my bed when he came in and said, "You come my camp
sleep. I give you blankets. You no take, you get sick.
Pretty soon winter come. You freeze, maybe die."
He evidently thought that I hadn't enough blankets. I
had a heavy piece of canvas and one warm, woolen blanket

INDIAN FRIENDS 103
and I could sleep very well, but I rolled up my pack and
went with the little, old Indian to- his camp. It was under
a large, branchy spruce tree. There was a fire, a lean-to
canvas and a great bundle of blankets. A pair of good
horses grazed near by, their sleek sides glistening in the
firelight. Two cages stood on the ground near the tree and
I could hear the young foxes scurrying around in them.
"This my cache," John said, pointing up into the tree,
and I saw all sorts of things hanging in the branches. There
were strips of dried sheep and moose meat, skins of whist
lers, bladders full of gopher grease and a sack full of dried
salmon, while a big piece of canvas was spread over it all
like a tent to keep the rain off. The Stick Indians have
caches like that all over the country. They trap in the
winter, and as blizzards are very frequent, they want to be
always near a cache where there is wood cut and plenty
of grub.
The old Indian rolled his blanket roll over to the lean-to
and made the bed. There were two big, heavy blankets
and three long robes of fur, one of whistlers and two of
gopher skins. Then, when the bed was made, we took off
our footwear and crawled in together. It was the first time
I had ever slept with an Indian and I felt decidedly queer.
He smelled of fish and gopher grease, for he was old, and I
think, not very fond of water. He had rubbed himself in
grease to keep the damp fall air away from his skin, and
while the fragrance was very pleasing to his nostrils, it was
beastly unpleasant to mine. I rolled in with him, neverthe
less, as it would have been a violation of hospitality to re
fuse. But the smell was not the worst of it. When the old
man fell asleep, he began to groan in the most horrible
fashion, and it was lucky for me that I was dead tired and
soon fell into a deep sleep. I woke up once or twice during
the night when the horses snorted at some passing night
prowler, put some wood on the fire and crept back into bed
and slept on.
Before daylight Hokashanta John was up and had the

104 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
breakfast cooking. During the night a storm had blown
up and it was now blowing a gale with a drizzly rain driving
along. I got out my duck and soon had it plucked, and with
duck meat and strips of dried sheep meat, we had a fine
breakfast together. I helped the old man pack up his horses
in silence, for the Indians are not fond of idle chatter and
we had said all that it was necessary to know, at supper the
night before. He gave me a big gopher skin robe and said
that I could keep it and I thanked him. That was about all
that was said till he went away, saying, "Good-by, big man.
Some day you come back Dalton House. Come see old
Hokashanta John. He good friend you. Maybe give you
squaw." "All right, John," I said, and we each went our way.
Noon found me trotting and sliding down a small valley
from lake to lake. Alaska, like Finland, could be called the
land of a thousand lakes, for everywhere I have been there
were lakes and more lakes.
In a canyon near the bottom of the Alsik valley there is
an old cabin called Bear Camp. Its name is surely justified,
for although I didn't see any bears, there were numerous
tracks, ranging from small cubs to the- twelve inch wide
tracks of the grizzly that can be distinguished by the deep
claw marks. There was a regular beaten path on each side
of the creek, where for centuries bears have walked along
fishing for salmon. It was after noon when I passed there
but I wanted to ford the Alsik river before I camped for
dinner, so I kept on down the trail and over the flat to the
edge of the stream. But when I saw it and found that the
water was higher than the last time I had crossed it, I
decided that if I had to risk my life crossing the river, I
might as well have the pleasure of eating first.
I built a fire, cooked two ptarmigan, a pot of rice, a ban
nock and tea and ate a hearty meal. Then I took my quar
ter of an hour's rest.
I took my gun and lashed it to my pack, took the pack
and placed it on top of my head and then waded out into

INDIAN FRIENDS 105
the river. The water was icy cold but the red hot tea had
warmed my insides; so it was some time before I felt
the numbing chill. The water was up to my armpits for
two hundred yards or more and it was lucky that the river
was sluggish in this particular place. I was numb long be
fore I reached the other side and several times I almost lost
my pack when I slipped on the slimy bowlders. Cold and
stiff I crawled out on the bank and sat down to pull off my
clothes and wring them out. I did not take time to build a
fire and get warm but went on as soon as I was dressed.
On that side of the river the foothills rose straight up
from the bank and the trail led me up a steep gulch, then
zigzagged up the side of the hill to a high, long bench.
Away up ahead of me on the sloping bench I saw something
move, or thought I did, something that was larger than a
gopher or a whistler. Then a flimsy bank of fog came
drifting up from the river and hid it from my sight and I
forgot about it.
Suddenly the mist passed away and right there in front of
me, digging like mad in a gopher hill, making the rocks and
dirt just fly, was a monster grizzly bear. I stopped, struck
dumb with surprise. I didn't dare run, for then he would
surely see me and take after me, and that would be the end
of the world for me. I was afraid to move for fear he
would see me, for one never knows what a grizzly bear will
do. He is just as liable to attack a man as to run away.
The beast was too busy digging to see me, although I was
less than a hundred feet away, but when a puff of wind
blew my scent over to him, he gave a "whoof" and squatted
on his haunches, ready to defend himself. He stared malig
nantly right at me. My heart stopped beating for a moment
or two, then I slowly raised my miserable little .22 automa
tic rifle and slipped off the safety catch. I knew that it
would be suicide to open fire with that gun there in the
open. The brute would get to me in a few jumps, yet I
would have shot if he had started toward me. I would
have tried to shoot him in the eye, blinding him, for I was

106 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
not going to pass away without a fight. I unslung my pack
as quietly as possible so that I wouldn't appear in any way
antagonistic and the bear just sat there watching me, wrig
gling his ears as though he were amused at my presence.
He was a big brute, about as tall as I as he sat there, and
he looked as big as an elephant to me. His breath came in
long, steady clouds of steam, for he was not a bit excited
and his small eyes twinkled at me. I lost some of my first
dread, for he didn't seem to wish me any harm and looked
more curious than anything else. Yet, I couldn't stand there
all day staring at him. He might take a notion that I was
afraid of him and come for me. I had to do something, so
I decided to pass him as if I didn't care anything about
him at all. I put the pack on my shoulders and started off
along the trail. I had to pass within fifty feet of him and
it took all the nerve I had. The monster didn't even get up
as I passed but just sat there, screwing himself around fac
ing me. I kept my eye on him while passing and I kept
looking over my shoulder when he was behind me. Then,
when I had gone about a hundred feet away, he got up on
all fours, walked over to the trail, sniffed at my tracks and
in the air and then started after me at a walk. No doubt he
smelled the bacon I had in my pack. I was panic stricken
and it was only with the greatest effort that I kept from
breaking into a run. Had I done so, I believe that the bear
would have chased me and killed me. I kept on walking
fast, looking back very often, and once when I looked back
I saw that the bear was off the trail digging for gophers
again. A small ridge got in between us and then I ran as
I never ran before and soon I was some distance from
where I had last seen him.
I came to a deep canyon with steep sides and a tumbling
brook in the bottom. Here I should have camped for the
night, for there was lots of wood, but I thought that I could
make the next canyon, (there are three of them cutting up
this long bench) so I climbed the other bank and hastened

INDIAN FRIENDS 107
to reach the next one. I suffered for it. The night caught
me up there on the windy bench.
It was a good thing for me that Hokashanta John had
given me that fur robe, for it turned cold, and with my
damp clothes, I would have been pretty uncomfortable with
only one woolen blanket and a piece of canvas. The gopher
skin robe was soft and astonishingly warm, and I rested
fairly well.
By daybreak my breakfast was cooked and eaten, my
blankets were rolled and I was on the way. Five inches of
snow had fallen that night, but I had been over that trail
once before, so I knew the general direction and got along
all right. After I had crossed the third canyon, the bench
began to slope downward, ending in a long draw with a
creek that began in a string of lakes that lay, one above an
other, on the bench. Here the woods began and there was
no snow and soon I was traveling through a heavy forest.
The sun came out and things began to look more cheerful.
Rabbits ran across the trail in front of me and a big bull
moose that was browsing on the leaves of a willow, snorted
as he saw me come around a curve and rushed off into the
deep woods, his antlers beating a tatoo on the limbs and
small trees as he crashed through. He gave me quite a
scare, too. I killed three spruce hens that flew up in a tree
directly above me with a great noise and flutter. Whenever
I stopped to rest I took care to' select a spot where there
were lots of berries, thus accomplishing two things at once.
The trail dropped down a steep ravine to the Alsik. I
forded the stream on a slanting riffle. I built a fire on the
other side, dried my clothes, fried my spruce hens and had
dinner. Then I found an almost invisible trail that led to
Dalton Post. I crossed the Klukshoo river and there on
the other side in the underbrush stood Princess.
Her hair was done in two long braids that hung, one on
each side of her head and reached to her waist. She wore
a coat and skirt of buckskin embroidered with many porcu
pine quills in fanciful patterns. The seams were finished

108 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
with little fringes of skin. Her little feet Were in prettily
embroidered moccasins. She looked very sweet and beau
tiful. I don't know how she knew I was coming, maybe she
had seen me crossing the river, or maybe she had seen my
smoke and guessed that it was I. She said that she had been
waiting for me, and placing her hands on my shoulders, she
kissed me squarely on the lips. I couldn't help it ! she was
so sweet and appealing that I kissed her, too. Then she
broke away, and running through the brush, disappeared.
Another two hundred yards and I was in the clearing.
Paddy Duncan was sitting outside his cabin and Princess
was there talking excitedly.
"Hello, Hootsklahoo," he called to me as I hove in sight.
"Welcome, welcome. Where you come from?" Princess
slipped out of sight behind the cabin.
"I come from outside," I said. "I had big trouble in
Skagway. Got in jail. Broke out. Locked jailer in. Ran
away over mountain to Chilkat. Came over Dalton trail
here." I could hear the squaws chatter excitedly behind the
cabin. "Where you get grub?" Paddy asked, surveying my pack
that I had placed on the ground and squatted upon.
"Klukwan. Good friends Klukwan."
"I know," Paddy said. "Good man, him. You see Ho
kashanta John, Dalton trail ?"
"Yes, I see him Glacier Camp. He's all right. Fox all
right, too. He give me fur robe. Hokashanta good man.
He told me to wait here. He give me squaw," I said, and
laughed and there was a great commotion behind the house
where a bunch of squaws had gathered and were eagerly
catching the news at long distance. "Where is Clarence?"
I asked. "He go catch fish. Come back soon. You stay here rest.
How much you pack ?" He came over to my pack and lifted
it. "Huh ! much heavy. You strong man. How many days
you come Pleasant Camp?"
"This is the third day."

INDIAN FRIENDS 109
"Oh, my !" He shook his head, "you bull moose. I glad
you come here. You stay here. I give you Princess. I
pay squaw. Princess say he like you. He fine squaw." Fie
shook his head from side to side to emphasize the last word.
Clarence, who is married to a squaw at Dalton Post, came
up to us with two big salmon. "Hello, Svend," he called,
"where do you come from? I thought you were away in
on the Yukon by this time."
I told him my story with more detail than I had given to
the Indians. He could appreciate the small side lights. An
Indian needs only to hear the main issues of the story and
he knows or imagines the rest. When I told him of locking
the jailer in, he danced a jig on the porch of the cabin and
laughed and shouted. "You're all right and all man.
There's nothing I like to hear better than that you got away
from them low down polecats. Good for you! You stay
right here and trap with Paddy and me this winter." Then
he turned to Paddy and said, "Guess we can manage to get
him a squaw, hey Paddy?"
"Yes," said the Indian, "I tell him Princess, he good
squaw. I tell him he no pay nothing." (The Indians insist
in saying he for she.)
"There, you see," said Clarence with great finality. "Prin
cess is a fine kid. If I weren't married, I'd take her myself.
We got all the grub we need and then some. You can make
a good stake trapping here and live like a prince. What do
you say to that ?"
I didn't know just what to say. I thought of what lay
ahead of me. I might get caught and be sent back to the
jail and later to the penitentiary. We had gone into the
house and I could see Princess watching me through a brok
en pane in the window, waiting eagerly to hear my answer
and I hated to speak, but I had to and she might as well hear
now as later. I turned to face Clarence squarely and said,
"No, friend Clarence, I can't do it. I have a girl in Cali
fornia and I love her and expect to marry her some day. I

no ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
thank you and Paddy for your kindness and your good will
but I cannot marry Princess. I am sorry."
"You don't have to marry her," Clarence spoke hastily.
"I just thought I would oblige you by saying that. You
can stay here and trap with us. We'll give you a cabin and
everything. You can't go out, they'll get you, sure as hell
and you're too good a man to rot in prison. I know you
want to get where you can hear from your girl and know
what's going on in the world, but you can stand it for one
winter in here. I've been here fifteen years and I don't give
a damn if I never get out."
Such arguments were hard for a man in my predicament
to resist, but I knew myself too well. My intentions might
be all right and my love for my white girl sure and true, but
to spend a whole winter away from the world with hardly
any news and with a pretty young Indian girl making eyes
at me and wanting to marry me, would shatter my good
intentions, for I was only human.
"No, Clarence," I said, shaking my head, "I thank you
ever so much but I can't do it. I must get out and work
my way through."
"All right," he said, "but remember, if you can't find any
thing to do and get in a tight fix, make you way back here.
You are welcome any time and you can eat as long as I got
anything to eat."
Paddy felt a bit abused at my refusing his offer. He
couldn't understand why any man should refuse to marry
Princess and he walked about the cabin saying nothing and
shaking his head.
I left Dalton Post that same afternoon. Before I went
away Paddy gave me a tin can and said, "When you get to
Klukshoo lake you see lots bear. All bear go Klukshoo lake
catch fish. Sometimes sleep near trail. You take tin can,
put in small rock. Make big noise. Scare bear away.
Sometime you come back Dalton House. I give you
squaw."

INDIAN FRIENDS in
I said good-by and left them all in the clearing looking
after me.
When darkness fell, I stopped by a small creek, made
camp and soon had my supper cooked, my shelter made and
a goodly pile of logs and sticks stacked by the fire. I had
to keep the fire burning all night for fear of the bears and
wolves that infest this country.
I was very lonesome that night and lay awake a long time
thinking of what had happened during the day. I wondered
if I were right. Here I was alone in the woods with only
a fire to comfort me, my blankets wet and the earth I lay
on cold and damp beneath me. I might have been in a warm
cabin with fur robes on the bed and a loving woman for my
mate. Oh, well, this world is a queer place. I live in the
future. When the future comes, shall I still live in the
future, I wonder, or shall I have my mate and be happy?
I doubted it that lonesome night, I doubted if I should ever
be happy.
Then came the blissful sleep that only the man who has
been traveling all day can appreciate.
In the early morning I found frost settling on everything
out of reach of the heat waves that were radiating from my
little fire. I had killed a spruce hen just before dark and
this I had for breakfast with the customary rice, bannock
and tea. Before long I was off again. All the sordid doubts
of the past night were flown. I felt at one with the clear
freshness about me. I felt that I maintained my integrity.
True, I was an outlaw, but I had been tempted to lower my
self to the level of another race and I had won the battle.
And was not this enough of life and worth living for ? Oh,
the world was beautiful that morning! The blue sky over
head and the promise of a sunshiny day seemed to make
everything gloriously happy. Little squirrels sat around in
the trees chattering gayly at me; blue jays flew along from
limb to limb above me and peered curiously at me, occasion
ally scolding me for disturbing their peaceful woods with
my presence, while now and then a flock of grouse flew up

112 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
in the trees above the trail and sat there looking at me, first
with one eye, then with the other, as if to make very sure
of me. A black bear trotted hurriedly into the underbrush
as I approached and a little later a red fox crossed the trail
like a streak, then stopped and sat there under a fallen log,
watching me as I passed.
The trail went up and down over rolling hills, through
little valleys and along mountainsides. Down in the valley
through which the Klukshoo river ran from K'nkshoo lake
to the Alsik forming half a dozen lakes in hollows along
the way, I found all kinds of bear tracks. Wherever the
trail was soft, it was covered completely with the imprint of
their paws. They were all going to Klukshoo lake, which
is the spawning ground for the Alsik sockeye salmon. It is
no wonder the bears were there, for the river and lakes
were full of fish, white fish, grayling, trout and salmon.
Everywhere they were jumping out of the water and falling
in with great splashes. I had once heard that when the
fish do this a storm is coming, and in this instance there was.
While I was stopping for dinner the first blasts of wind
came soughing through the treetops and big drops of rain
began to fall one by one here and there. I hurried with my
meal and started on my way as soon as I could, for I wanted
to get as far as possible that evening. There was a good
camping place between Klukshoo and Desdiash lake and I'd
have to go some to reach it that day. Before I had gone
very far the storm broke and great blasts of wind sent trees
crashing to the earth and the air was full of branches and
leaves. A heavy rain began to drive down and before long
I was wet through. It was dangerous traveling, for I never
knew when a tree or limb would fall on me, but I wanted
at least to reach Klukshoo lake, where I could stop at the
fish camp with the Stick Indians. I was sure to find shelter
there for the night.
I was making pretty good time, trotting wherever the trail
was even and clear enough, and at about three o'clock was
approaching Klukshoo lake. Along the trail here and there

INDIAN FRIENDS 113
were rotting salmon that the bears had carried there and
left to ripen. I had forgotten all about what Paddy said
about making a noise with the can and it was lucky for me
that the wind carried my scent ahead of me, for suddenly a
big, brown bear jumped up from a clump of brush close
by the side of the trail right ahead of me. It gave a vicious
snort and a swipe with its paw in my direction and rushed
off into the woods. I stopped' right then, got the can off
my pack, put my knife and some nails that I carried in my
pocket in it, and made all the noise I could the rest of the
way to the lake. I saw no more bears.
The fish camp was deserted. I made my camp under a
shed where the Indians had smoked fish. I hung my blan
kets, robe and canvas up under the rafters and made a big
fire to dry them. Then I gathered a lot of old rotten and
broken logs and poles from nearby sheds and fish racks and
piled them up beside my fire. I wanted to keep a good
blaze going all night, for there were bear tracks everywhere
among the sheds of the camp and I knew that night time
was when they were about doing their fishing.
Down by the edge of the lake a flock of mallards was
quacking and feeding in the reeds. I sneaked down there,
crawling on hands and knees part of the time to get near
enough and I got two of them before they had time to fly
away. The water was shallow, SO' I waded out to get them.
At camp I stripped naked and dried my clothes, in the
meantime plucking my game. I stuck the ducks full of
holes with my knife and in the holes I stuck peppered and
salted bacon and sat there turning them on a stick over the
fire till they were roasted through.
As I looked out over the woods and hills where no hu
mans lived, it seemed to me that I was the first man in a
world of animals. A primeval forest dweller sitting there
stark naked in the crudely built shed roasting my meat over
the fire. Darkness fell early that night and even before it
was quite night, I could distinguish great, black shapes com
ing down through the brush to the lake. Splash, splash,

114 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
splash, went a monster brute right past my camp, jogging
along in the mud. Then it stopped a few moments and,
staring out into the darkness, I could see my fire reflected
in its small eyes as it growled and glared at me, sitting there
naked as itself with my pitiful little gun grasped in my
hands. Oh, how grateful I was for that little fire that kept
the beasts from getting too close to me. I didn't sleep very
well that night. I kept hearing all sorts of noises and I
roused often to keep my fire burning brightly. I heard at
least a dozen bears pass by down to the water and they
kept me pretty well awake most of the time but I was thank
ful to have lots of wood, and a roof over me to keep me
warm and dry, for it rained hard all night long.
When morning came the world was gray and wet. I was
wet to the skin before I had gone a mile and was neither
comfortable nor cheerful. I hadn't rested well on account
of the bears and now I had to keep rattling my can to keep
those same infernal beasts from attacking, and it irritated
me. Yet, everything has an end and before noon the sun
broke through the clouds and filled the world with light
and joy.
At noon I stopped at a river ; I don't know its name. The
water was clear and deep and the current very gentle. I
could see grayling and white fish swimming about, and as
I hadn't seen any game that morning, I got out my fishing
tackle, cut a long willow for a pole, and soon I was having
a fine time catching a dozen grayling for my dinner. In an
hour or so I was on the trail again, traveling over a wide
swamp on a carpet of moss that swayed under my weight
and kept me worrying about breaking through and sinking
into the mud, or whatever it was that lay beneath. After
a while I stirred up a flock of caribou as large as cows from
a grove of willow and cottonwood, and when I saw them
gallop across the swamp, I knew that I would never sink
through if they didn't. At the edge of the swamp a fine red
fox sat in the middle of the trail looking at me as I came
up to it. I raised my gun to kill it but before I could take

INDIAN FRIENDS 115
a decent aim, it seemed to divine my purpose and leaped
into the brush and out of sight. The trail now led up over
a small ridge and then up on the high banks of Lake Des-
diash. This lake stretches along for about forty miles — a
beautiful, beautiful sight; surrounded by forest clad moun
tains with white, pearly peaks in contrast to the dark green,
and the brown, red and yellow of the autumn leaves. The
reflection in the water seemed to be even more wonderful
than the mountains themselves. And I had it to look at
all afternoon as I walked along on the high banks through a
meager forest of scattered spruce and small cottonwood.
I got a couple of grouse for my supper and stopped by a
row of cabins that are called Desdiash Village. There was
no one there and the cabins were all locked with large pad
locks, which is very unusual for Alaska. So I pitched my
camp under a big tree and slept soundly through the frosty
night. The morning was clear and cold and I made good time.
Through swamps, over bluffs and along long benches I went.
I passed an old Indian fish camp called Yon Yack's fish
camp. There I had a fine view of Yon Yack mountain,
which is named after an old Indian who is supposed to be
more than two hundred years old and who tells that when
he was a boy the mountain was nothing but a knoll and
that it grew with him and got larger and larger the older
he grew. The trail led between this and another towering
mountain on its way through woods, over ridges and across
deep, flat-bottomed canyons that were filled with fine, white
sand and dotted with willow thickets and cottonwood
groves, and shady dark-green pine forests.
Along in the afternoon the sky was again darkened by
clouds, so I made haste to reach some kind of a camping
place. It was only four o'clock, but the clouds became so
heavy that it suddenly turned dark. I could tell by the air
that something tremendous was about to happen, so, in a
small indentation in the bank of a canyon, I spread my can
vas over a few bunches of brush and started a fire outside,

116 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
but no sooner was my fire going well than the rain came in
a cloudburst. It simply flooded out of the sky. Out went
my nice fire and down came my canvas over me. There was
only one thing to do and that was to get everything under
the canvas and stay there until the rain stopped. I raised
a couple of sticks under the middle of it and with my grub
and blankets in a heap in the center, I curled up and tried
to sleep. I was not destined to sleep that night, however,
for the water coming down the hillside formed a creek that
ran right through my little lair. I dug a canal with my
hands and hatchet and led the water around my grub but
I had to stand by, repairing and making new ditches half
the night while the rain lasted. It stopped as suddenly as
it started. The sky cleared and the stars came twinkling
out, wonderfully close above the tops of the trees. Then it
turned cold and everything froze up. With cold fingers and
wet wood, it was no easy job to build a fire, but after a lot
of swearing and searching around, I found a dead cotton
wood and got some dry pulp from a hole in the trunk, and
with it soon had a crackling fire. I put my canvas so that
the heat waves woud play against it and rolled up in my
bedding for an hour's nap before it was time to cook
breakfast. I reached Champaigne Landing about nine o'clock. The
village is on a low bench sloping down to- the river. There
are about fifty cabins, a large roadhouse with corrals and
stables and a trading store. As I entered the village, a
hundred or so dogs began to bark and rush at me in packs.
I was quite frightened and swung my rifle at the first that
came so they only circled around me, sniffed at my scent
and slunk off to their respective cabins, where they lay and
bristled and growled. Doors opened and the inmates
crowded around to look at me, bucks, squaws and kids star
ing curiously. Then the men came out and followed me to
the store. One by one they came and soon the little place
was crowded. Then came questions and answers galore.
I told them of the progress of the big war, and they were

INDIAN FRIENDS 117
were very much interested and one of them who seemed to
be educated, said, "Damn fools, to be making war like that."
I tried to get him into a discussion but he only said, "Huh,"
to everything I said. Where was I going? I didn't know.
Maybe I would stop there if I could get a job. Maybe I
would go to White Horse or back to Dalton Post. I didn't
tell them much. They seemed to understand everything,
anyway — White man come from Haines, through Dalton
Post. Looking for job — it was very simple.
"Shorty," the man who owned the store, came from the
back room and asked me where I came from.
"Dalton Post," I answered.
"The hell you do! The last time I saw you, you was
going to White Horse. How did you get to Dalton Post!
without coming through here?"
"I came over from Carcross by Lake Arkell," I lied, for
Shorty looked treacherous, not the kind of a man to whom
a fellow tells the truth. "I am looking for a job. You don't
happen to need a good man, do> you?"
"No," said Shorty, and eyed me suspiciously. I think he
was afraid that I would ask him for something. That's the
way it is with some of these white traders. How different
the Indians have been. As soon as they learned I was in
trouble, they stretched out their hands in sympathy and
friendship. "There was a team passed through here to-day," Shorty
informed me. "If you can make Stoney Creek to-night, you
might get a ride to-morrow." This was probably to get rid
of me, so I said so-long to the Indians and started out along
the road to White Horse. I had nineteen miles to go and I
made the mile posts fly past me that afternoon, reaching
Stoney Creek by nightfall.
A stony-bottomed creek ran across the road with a road-
house built on the brink of it. Two wagons stood there and
four bearded men sat around a huge campfire in a grove
of trees to one side of the road. I took my pack up under
a big, spreading spruce tree and unrolled it. Then I made

118 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
a fire and cooked a hasty meal. After I had eaten my lone
supper I went over to the fire and it did not take long to
get acquainted. Three of them were prospectors, a father
and his two sons. The other was a teamster freighting for
Shorty. I estimated the old man to be about seventy and
the sons between forty and fifty. They had prospected
every summer for nine years and had worked every winter
for a grub stake. They were ragged and had long whiskers,
so that they looked like robbers in a story book. They had
just heard about the war that day and the old man cursed
the Kaiser and the Crown Prince roundly. He was not an
anarchist, he said, but if he ever got the chance, he would
shoot the scoundrels like yellow dogs. When I told them
I had over eighty pounds to pack, they said that I could ride
in the wagon with them the rest of the way to White Horse.
They were sure I could get a job in the mine there, or if I
couldn't, they knew a contractor who took contracts from
the White Pass Company to cut wood along the Yukon for
the river boats, so I came to think that I was safe in going
to White Horse.
Next morning I ate breakfast with the men and listened to
them damning the Germans and the triple alliance. The pa
per they had seen about the war, the only one, by the way,
had told of the Russian offensive in East Prussia. The
Russians were marching on Berlin. They must be pretty
nearly there and the old man was sure that when we got to
White Horse the war would be over. I said that I hoped
this was so but that I knew about the German border and it
was either swampy or mountainous, so I didn't think that
the Russians could get through very fast. Then the old man
thought that I was a German. My speech was accented,
sure I was a German. All Germans or pro-Germans ought
to be shot or hanged and it was only by the greatest effort
that I was allowed to explain that I was a Dane and, there
fore, as much against the Germans as anybody, probably
more than most people, because my home country was anti-
German, so I had been brought up to be so. This was oil

INDIAN FRIENDS 119
on the troubled waters, and the old man ceased to glare at
me, merely remaining disgusted and ignoring me. When
he learned that I was a foreigner, what little respect he had
for me waned as he had no use for foreigners. I felt de
jected and out of place when the wagon started. It was
cold, too. I decided to warm up so I jumped off and ran
ahead of the horses that were trotting along at a rapid gait.
I kept this up for a couple of miles, until I was thoroughly
limbered up and warmed through, then I let the team pass
me, and placing my hands on the edge of the wagon, I
jumped inside with more grace than I had imagined myself
capable of. That made quite an impression on those three
prospectors, for most men like that admire physical prowess.
Then, after a while when the silence hung too heavy, I began
to draw the old man out about prospecting. There is noth
ing an old timer likes more than to be asked questions and
soon he was rambling on, telling all about it. I learned a
lot and at the same time became good friends with the old
fellow by merely acting as if I took everything he said for
the gospel truth. The sons, too, seemed to take a liking to
me, for Otis* laughed uproariously when I told even a mild
joke, which was a good sign, while Pete, who was driving,
sat there and nodded his head and smiled. He was the older
of the two and his hair was already turning gray at the tem
ples. Once in a while I caught him scrutinizing me when
I was not looking at him, as if he wanted to know my
secret. Once when the other two were in the back of the wagon,
he said in an undertone that if I ever needed help some
time, I could count on him for a friend. He had seen a
thing or two himself, he said. In ragged, bewhiskered Pete
I felt that I had a staunch friend. At noon we camped by
a small creek and here again it came about that I showed
off before them. My little .22 automatic was the last thing
in accuracy when one knew its peculiarities. It shot just a
little low and to the right. I had been a sharpshooter in the
army and when Pete, Otis and I shot at a target on a tree

120 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
at a hundred feet, I beat both of them badly. Then I
showed Pete, who was the better shot of the two, just what
was the matter with the gun, and he hit the bullseye five
times in succession. I did the same and we were tied. A
small hawk came along and sat down in the very top of a
tree near by. I took hasty aim and down came Mr. Hawk ;
then Pete said I was the best shot and that he wanted to
buy that gun, but being broke, he couldn't. I told him that
I had only five dollars but I would sell him the gun if I got
a job in White Horse.
That night we stopped at the Takina river and camped on
the bank of it. In the morning we hailed the ferryman and
crossed on a big ferry that slides across the current, hanging
to a cable. In the evening they would reach White Horse
but I didn't want to go that far, so got off where the road
branches to go to Pueblo Mines. I said good-by to' my
fellow travelers and with my pack on my back once again,
set out to cover the two or three miles to the mine.
A young fellow came along the road just as I reached
the buildings. He looked as though he might be a time
keeper or something like that.
"Where is the office?" I asked him, for though I knew
where the office was, I thought I might as well find out
something before I went in.
"Are you looking for a job?" he asked.
"I am."
"Well, you're out of luck," he shook his head. "The
mine closed down yesterday and most of the men are gone,
only a few left to straighten things up."
Well, I'm kind of used to such things now but I had
hoped to get a job in that mine. I decided that maybe I
ought to go to Dawson and stay there, woodpile or no wood
pile, jail or no jail. I set my course toward White Horse
and reached there late in the evening.
Outside of the town Shorty Chambers has a barn and
here the three prospectors were staying, camping in the
hay loft. When I passed they asked me to come in and

, INDIAN FRIENDS 121
stay with them, so I did. Last night a wood contractor said
he could give me a job for all winter with a chance to make
a grub stake.
I am dead tired. I came here to the free reading room
early this morning, and except for a few minutes I spent
buying a loaf of bread and some cheese and eating them, I
have been writing all day. It is now almost twelve o'clock.
The caretaker came in a long time ago and told me he'd have
to close up but I said I was writing home and asked him to
let me stay till I had finished. He said it looked as if I
were writing a book, but he let me stay. I wanted to get
it done, for I don't know what to-morrow may bring. Oh,
Marian, I can't help thinking of you and loving you.
Svend.

CHAPTER XII
IN JAIL AGAIN AND OUT White Horse,
Sept. 20, 1914.
MY dear friend Marian:
Well, Marian, I have at last come out from my
prospecting trip. I reached here day before yes
terday after a hard trip out. You were right in your
expectations, I didn't find the gold and am broke, and
worse than that, I am in jail. But don't worry, dear, they
will let me out as soon as they see they have made a mis
take. It seems there is some sort of a desperado around
here by the name of Svend Norman who has done some
thing or other and is wanted by the U- S. authorities. He
evidently looks a lot like me, for they say I answer the de
scription to a T all the way around, so there is nothing for
me to do but to stay here till the man comes from Skag
way to identify me and then, of course, they will let me go.
I have already secured a job with a wood cutting outfit
down the Yukon river, so I can go to work as soon as this
farce is over.
I was standing down by Shorty Chambers' barn when a
constable came edging up to me and two others came from
behind the barn and arrested me.
I demanded to know what I was charged with and they
said the sergeant would tell me soon enough, and of course,
as there were three of them and they were policemen, I had
to come along.
Once here they took me to an office and an official in civil
ian clothes asked all sorts of foolish questions. "What's

IN JAIL AGAIN AND OUT 123
your name? What's your father's name? What's your
grandfather's name ?" And so on until I got so mad that I
threatened to whale the devil out of him, the nervy cuss.
Me, an American citizen to be treated like this !
What do you think these idiots have me charged with?
Suspicion of having violated the immigration laws without
reporting to the authorities. The danged fools know well
enough that there are no authorities where I crossed the
border at Pleasant Camp five months ago and it's pure
meanness on their part, just because I am a free American.
But I'll be out in a few days and then I'll tell you what
I think of them. I'll write again when I get out.
I am your friend truly, Bill Roberts.
P. S. — My address is General Delivery, White Horse,
Yukon Territory, and I'll have it forwarded wherever I go.
With much love, Bill.

White Horse,
Sept. 25, 1914.
Dear friend Marian : —
Well, girl, the game is up. It's no use pretending any
longer. They know who I am, all right, and the U. S. mar
shal is coming up to-night to identify me and take me away
with him in the morning. I am in a cell four feet by six and
have chains on my legs to keep me from causing any more
trouble. They wouldn't give me this paper to write on till
I kicked the door and made so much noise that the captain
came and said to let me have all the paper I wanted, and so
I am writing.
I got so darned angry the first day they had me here that
I just tore loose and made as much racket as I could. A
constable came running and after him a sergeant. The ser
geant was in a rage.
"What do you mean by this, you dirty— — "
I demanded to see the captain and after a lot of talk he
left

124 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
When he got outside I heard him say, "My God ! but these
Americans are a lot of trouble," and I knew I had him
bluffed. I lay down to rest on the narrow cot and planned
what I'd say.
The captain came about an hour later and I was let out
to talk to him. I protested firmly that I didn't wish to be
in jail, that I had done no wrong and that they had no right
to keep me there. I was firm but more polite than I had
been to the others. I could see that it made an impression
and he came pretty near letting me out. On second thought,
however, he said that he would telegraph to Skagway, and
if I was not the man the U. S. marshal there wanted, of '
course they would let me go. He gave the constable orders
to give me all the food I wanted and to be decent to me.
I was placed in another cell where there were six cells facing
out on a large room where I could walk about. You can
see that my game of bluff was up, so that afternoon I
planned my breakaway.
Supper time came and two other prisoners set the table
out in the guard room. There were five constables out there
standing around a heater, joking and laughing. Then my
door was opened and I stepped out, my guard stepped back
a bit and there was a moment or two of tension with every
one watching me. Then I turned to the table and with a
sigh of relief the constables around the stove continued their
talk. The door to the outside opened — some one was coming
in. This was my chance. I put one foot against the bench
by the table and whirled around with a leap. I took one
constable with my shoulder, sending him flying into another
one, and both of them sprawled on the floor. Then over
the stove I flew. Some one got me by the neck of the shirt
and pulled the whole back of it off. There was one of them
in the doorway and I kicked him head over heels outside;
one was hanging onto me and I dragged him outside with
me, where he let go. I was free and out in the cold evening.
I went like a streak around the corner and up the street to
ward the woods. I heard five or six shots and jumped side-

IN JAIL AGAIN AND OUT 125
ways and zigzagged along to keep them from getting a good
aim. There was an old Indian cabin in this part of the woods
and I knew there were a lot of old clothes there, so I made
my way to it. I found a fur cap and a coat that fitted me,
then I made for the road toward Champaigne Landing. I
sneaked through the woods towards Shorty Chambers' barn,
thinking to get my pack. But as I was lying in the brush
at the edge of the woods, I saw two constables carrying my
stuff out of the barn and away toward town. Well, I
thought, I could get some grub from the Indians at Cham
paigne. That was only sixty-five miles, so I could get there
all right without anything to eat.
It was pitch dark and I started out along the road at a
run. I wasn't packing anything now and I felt as light as
a feather. I ran at a loping trot with as long strides as I
could take, walking only now and then to catch up with my
wind. Before very long it seemed, I was at Takina twenty
miles out and was hardly a bit tired. I got the ferry loose
and let her drift over to the other side with me. There I
•turned her wheel to go back and then jumped off and let her
drift back alone. Then I was off again. The road was
frozen hard and easy to run on, so I made splendid time. I
ran and walked, ran and walked all night long, constantly
thinking and planning what I would do. I decided not to
go to Dalton Post but to go through Champaigne to Yukon
Crossing and there try to stow away on a river boat to
Dawson. Or perhaps I could get a job in some wood camp
along the way.
At daybreak I passed the forty mile post and there a trail
led off at right angles to the road. I thought that it was a
short cut, so I took it.
At a small creek that ran across the trail in a canyon I
came upon an Indian camped with his squaw and his two
small kids. I stopped, for my feet were getting sore and I
wanted to bathe them in the creek, and I was also hungry
enough to even bum an Indian for a dried fish or some-

126 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
thing. He was a low browed, evil looking savage and eyed
me with great suspicion as I squatted by the creek and took
my shoe packs off. No doubt, it was very strange to see a
white man dressed as I was in a tattered, moldy, old coat and
a woman's fur cap, for such it was, though I hadn't noticed
it before daybreak, running along forty-five miles from town
without blankets and without grub at that time of year. I
wondered if he thought I was crazy and then a lucky idea
struck me. I would act crazy and then he would be afraid
to do me harm and would probably feed me, too.
After I had washed my feet in the ice rimmed creek and
had drunk all the water I cared for, I stood up, and throw
ing my arms out as if to embrace the whole world, I sang a
mighty song in Danish about the national hero, Holger
Danske. I sang so loud that the echo of it rolled from one
side of the canyon to the other. The Indians watched me
with great awe and when I turned to the buck and gravely
asked him for something to eat, he called to his squaw and
soon after she brought me a lump of baked dough and two
strips of dried white fish. I thanked him and bowed deeply
to the squaw and then asked the Indian where the trail led
to. He said that it led to Yukon Crossing and I was very
glad. I asked him how far it was to the next house and he
informed me in a dialect that I cannot reproduce that twenty
miles down the trail lived an old white man, so I thanked
him again and hurried on.
The trail was good but in the forenoon I began to feel a
little weak. My legs were beginning to get sore in the mus
cles and I had a queer, weak feeling in the small of my
back. I was getting very, very tired. Sixty-five miles is a
long way to go in one stretch. My mind was awfully dull
that morning and I can't remember what I was thinking
about as I stumbled along over that trail through the heavy
forest of brush and jack pines.
Some time in the day I came to a small clearing with a
cabin and there stood an old man, chopping wood.
"Hello," I said weakly as I came up to him.

IN JAIL AGAIN AND OUT 127
"Howdy, howdy," he cried, and looked at me with sur
prise showing in his kind, gray eyes. "Come on inside
where it's warm. Why, man, you're as white as a sheet!
Are you sick ?"
"No," I told him, "but I am dead tired." I walked into
the cabin and sat down on the bed near the fire. "I left
White Horse last night after dark."
"By jove !" he exclaimed, "you look it." And then I told
him the whole miserable story as briefly as I could.
"By jove," he said again, "you're entitled to get away
after that. I'll tell you what to do. You keep right on this
trail and about twenty miles from here is another cabin
where an old friend of mine lives and traps. He will show
you the trail to a large wood camp where you can get a job
and they'll never find you. Them redcoats are hell on1 the
trail, though, and they're liable to be right behind you. I'll
tell them that you took my trap line to Champaigne Landing,
and when they don't find you there, they'll think you got lost
and died and'll quit looking for you." He was stepping
around all the time, getting a big pot of beans warmed up
and coffee made for me, and in a little while I was sitting
down to a great, big feed.
I ate till I felt drowsy. The old man said that I could
sleep a couple of hours, then he'd call me and I could make
the rest of the twenty miles to the next cabin. "You can
rest there," he said, "for I'll send them the other way when
they come."
I had no sooner closed my eyes, it seemed, than he was
shaking me and telling me that I had better move along, as
the redcoats were liable to be coming at any time. I was
so sleepy that I wouldn't have cared if they had come, but
he kept shaking me till I came to and realized my situation.
He had a big lunch made up for me and a pair of blankets
rolled in a pack strap, and after a plate of hot beans and
all the coffee I could drink, I was on the trail again with a
"Good luck, boy," ringing in my ears.
Though my feet were sore and my legs ached with every

128 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
step, I was thankful that I was free, had food and was get
ting away.
It grew dark ; my legs seemed to bump against every ob
stacle along the way and my ankles felt as if they had been
worn to the bone. I tried to think it was funny and laughed
aloud, but my laugh sounded crazy. If there had been any
one behind me they would have thought I was a maniac and I
wouldn't wonder if I was a bit crazy. No one but a crazy
man would run like that through the dark wastes laughing
at himself. I wondered if I would ever get away from the
thing that reached out and grasped me when I thought I was
perfectly safe. I thought of the warm guard room and it
didn't seem so bad at that. There I would at least have a
chance to rest.
It was lucky for me that the moon rose and blinked at me
from over a distant mountain, for if it hadn't, I should have
missed the trapper's cabin. It was standing back from the
trail almost hidden by brush and I would not have seen it
if the moon hadn't been reflected in the window pane. I
stumbled over to it and knocked on the door. No one an
swered, so I raised the latch and went in. I struck a match
and saw that there was no one there. A cook stove stood
in the corner and a heater in the center of the little cabin.
I made a fire in the heater and then lay down on the floor
with my roll of blankets under my head, for I was too tired
and sleepy to unroll them.
I must have slept a long time before I was wakened by
the cold. The fire was out and it was bright daylight. I was
so stiff and sore that I lumbered around like a lame horse,
building a fire in the cook stove and making myself a cup of
coffee to get warmed up inside. After drinking that and
eating the rest of my old friend's lunch, I lay down on the
floor and slept again.
Some one shook me by the shoulder and I looked right
into the muzzle of a big, automatic pistol. Behind it there
was a red coated policeman, the one who had arrested me

IN JAIL AGAIN AND OUT 129
down by Shorty Chambers' barn. I looked at him and felt
more helpless than I ever had before in my life. I wasn't
afraid of the gun, I hardly noticed it, but the presence of the
big man in the red coat overwhelmed me with a sense of
weakness. He was the power of society and in the right,
and I was an outlaw and in the wrong. I had no chance.
He told me to put out my hands, and when I did, he put a
pair of handcuffs on them.
Then he smiled to me. "By Golly, lad, you're a game one
and I hate like hell to take you, but I got to do my duty."
I grinned a sickly grin back to him. What was there to
do? After all my running away and suffering, I was where
I had started, caught! It seemed impossible.
"How did you find my trail ?" I asked.
"The old Indian I met on the way told me you had asked
him where the trail led to. Then old Bob, by the cross trails,
told me you had gone to Champaigne and intended to go to
Dalton Post, and of course I knew old Bob is the best kind
of a fellow and wouldn't tell the truth, so I came this way
as fast as I could. I knew you bloody well couldn't keep
up the pace you had gone, and, since I had my horses, I'd get
you sooner or later."
Outside the cabin were two horses, a saddle and a pack
horse. The constable tied part of the load from the pack
horse behind his saddle. "This is against rules," he said,
"but you have walked far enough and we can get back faster
this way. There are only thirty-five miles to Champaigne
and you'll get a buggy ride from there to White Horse."
Thus we traveled along the trail all during the moonlit
night. At the old timer's cabin we stopped, and after rous
ing him, had a cup of coffee. I gave him back his blankets
and he was very sorry that I had been caught and said so
quite openly before the constable.
On the way into Champaigne Landing we passed two In
dians, big Jim and his son, Casey. As soon as they recog
nized me I made a motion with my hand for silence and then
made as if to break my chains and pointed along the road to

130 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
Dalton Post and they nodded that they understood. The
constable's back was toward us, so he didn't see the panto
mime, didn't even notice that the Indians recognized me.
We stopped at a roadhouse and I was put in a room on
the top floor. Here my guard took off the handcuffs and
also took away my pants, my coat and my shoe packs and
put a pair of cuffs on my ankles with a chain between them
that was long enough to let me walk with small steps. He
then brought food to me and slept on the couch opposite my
bed. I slept soundly all day long, and when I woke, the con
stable was gone. I got out of bed as quietly as I could and
sat down before the window. It faced to the front of the
house. Less than a hundred yards away there was a thicket
of brush and further on were the woods, stretching away
toward Dalton Post. If I could only get away out there in
the woods ! Before long my two Indian friends came past,
walking slowly, scrutinizing the house. I raised the win
dow and they saw me and signed for me to wait till dark.
The constable brought me my supper and left me alone
again. It grew darker and darker. I heard a slight scrap
ing against the outside of the wall and raised the window.
A long ladder was extended to the sill and I could see two
dark shapes down below me. I made a little noise with
the darned chain as I slid out of the window, head first, but
nobody in the house seemed to hear that. Thanks to the
gymnasium at Fort Seward where I had spent many a win
ter day, I was able to get down the ladder without making
any noise or using my feet. But on the hard ground, it was
a different story. My blooming chain rattled and clanked
along the frozen pebbly road. The Indians whispered for
me to be still and hurry and I placed my arms across their
shoulders, hopping along six feet at a step. But the chain
made too much noise and we had to stop. Casey ran down
into the village to get some clothes for me and something to
wrap around the chain, while big Jim and I made for the
nearby thicket as quickly and silently as we could.

IN JAIL AGAIN AND OUT 131
But it was not for me to get away that night. The con
stable had heard the telltale clanking of the chain, had
rushed to the room, and now came bounding through the
dark toward big Jim and me just as Casey reappeared with
the things. The Sticks dove into the brush and I surren
dered. The big redcoat chuckled. "I be hanged if you aren't all
right. How the hell did you do it? How did you get word
to those bloody savages? Who are you, anyway, that they
help you like that ? I never heard of the Siwashes helping a
white man."
"Oh," I answered, "these Indians just happen to be
friends of mine. I know a lot of Indians in these parts."
"I don't blame you for trying to get away," he said, "but
I can't afford to let you go. I've got a little girl back in
White Horse, and if I get my corporal stripes for this, we'll
get married, don't you know," and he blushed.
I wished him luck and told him about my own girl and
told him how I had come up north to make a home for her
and how circumstances had driven me lower and lower till
I made this last fatal mistake. The man in him was very
sympathetic toward me and prompted him to let me go, but
his red coat, his honor, duty and ambition, were the domi
nating influences in his life and I didn't blame him.
"Had I known how things were with you, lad," he spoke
with feeling, "I'd never have caught up with you, but maybe
it's the best thing, after all. Things have a way of turning
out for the best. Take it from me, the best way out of a
mess is generally the easiest way and I think you are taking
the hardest."
He was American born, this constable, but had been
raised in Canada. Strangely enough, he looked a whole lot
like me, except that he had black hair. We became good
friends that evening as we sat there in the room swapping
yarns. After an early breakfast, we started for White Horse in
a buckboard, reaching there the next noon.

132 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
Once more I was searched, questioned and put in a cell,
this time with irons on my legs. The marshal from Skag
way will be here before long now and to-morrow morning
we shall, in all probability, go on the train to Skagway and
I shall have almost completed my second round trip, as my
friend in Pleasant Camp called it.
I am very tired now, Marian. I am afraid I have run
my last run for a while. They'll not give me another chance
to break away and I suppose I am doomed for the pen.
But Marian, I like to write to you and you will let me
write as long as I can, won't you? I'd not write love let
ters, merely of the things I saw.
I am your friend,
Svend.

CHAPTER XIII
ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM Skagway, Alaska.
Sept. 29, 1914.
DEAR friend Marian:
At White Horse they put me on bread and water
for five days. I protested to the Captain and asked
him to have me fed properly, but he shook his head im
patiently. "Look here, Norman  "
"Roberts," I insisted, for I was still stoutly maintaining
that my name was Bill Roberts.
"It's the rules that you stay where you are for five days
on water and bread. We cannot change that. We tried to
be decent to you, but you have shown that as soon as you
have your belly full of food and feel strong, you try to
break the whole building down. You can see that you have
brought these hardships on yourself, but I can do one thing
for you. This incident of your getting away — I'll not say
anything about it. It's a damned disgrace to the whole
force and we are not anxious to advertise it. The marshal
is coming up to-morrow to identify you and if, by some
strange chance you are not the man we want, I'll see to it
that you get paid for the trouble we have caused you and
I'll try to help you get a decent job if you want it."
That was all very well, but I knew the marshal would
identify me all right and I begged the captain at least to
let me out in the fresh, air, but he was impassive and left
me still arguing and pleading.
I slept, or tried to sleep, the rest of the day; ate my
133

134 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
bread in the evening and waited, waited, waited, through
the long, long night for morning to come.
Morning came at last and I was ravenously hungry. My
God ! It was not so bad to be starving out in the moun
tains when I was going somewhere, but there with nothing
to do but look at the other prisoners eating out in the guard
room, it was agonizing! But I didn't yell — I had learned
my lesson.
That evening, after a long day, when the marshal finally
came, there was no more resistance left in me. I was too
weak and hungry to think of fighting. They opened the
door and let me into the guard room. There he was, the
man who had first captured me, smiling to me in a friendly
fashion. "Hello, Svend," he said and held out his hand to me. I
took it, for I wanted to make the impression that I had
given up the struggle. "Well, Svend," he laughed, "you gave
us a big chase, all right, and caused us a lot of expense,
but they are not going to press the charge of jail breaking
against you. The jailer is fired and I have to go the first
of March, all on account of you. Don't think that I have
any hard feelings, though, for I haven't. I would have
done the same thing myself if I had been in your place,
only I don't think I could have accomplished what you did.
No other man has ever gone across those mountains you
crossed. You have won a reputation around here and you'll
have no trouble getting a job when you get out, after a few
months in jail. They'll give you about three months, I should
judge." This, of course, was only flattery to make me feel good
and come along without making trouble.
"Say, marshal," I said, "I haven't had anything to eat
for God knows how long. They've put me on bread and
water for trying to get out. Can't you send and get me
something to eat?"
"Sure, I can," he said. "I'll see to that right away. We
leave on the train early in the morning."

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 135
They brought me a large plate of pork and beans from a
restaurant and I had all I could eat in my cell.
How quickly a body picks up ambition, once it has fuel !
No sooner had I eaten than I decided to protest against
extradition. I asked for an audience and they led me to the captain's
office, which was a few buildings away from the guard
house. I still had chains on my legs and could only walk
very slowly, so there was no chance of my breaking away.
The captain was sitting at his desk. "Sir," I said, "I
protest against being extradited. You have no right to
deport me. I have committed no crime in Canada and be
sides, I have a miner's license in British Columbia and have
mining property there. I have a right to be here !"
"Where is your license ?" he asked quietly.
"In Skagway."
"Well, how do I know you have a license ? You told me a
lie about your name. How can you expect me to believe you
about this ? What have you to prove it by ?"
"I have nothing," I said, "but you have no right to deport
me. Canada and the United States have no reciprocal ex
tradition laws."
"Oh, that's the trouble. You needn't worry about that.
We are not deporting you. We are only sending you to
the line to be examined by the immigration officer."
Well, I will say that it was pretty clever. Put me on the
train and take me to the line to see the immigration officer
with the marshal by my side and irons on my hands and
feet. Oh no, no deportation at all !
They took me back to my cell, where I walked up and
down all night long, planning an escape from the train.
In the morning two guards took me down to the station
and aboard the train.
I had hoped they would take my handcuffs off when the
train started, but they left them on, and to make my escape
more impossible, the U. S. marshal came and sat in the

136 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
remaining empty seat in the section of four seats. That
made one guard by my side and two facing me.
The marshal left us to go to the smoking car and I
turned to the constable and said earnestly, "Look here,
Jack, you don't want to see me go to the pen and I don't
want to go. You can do something for me if you wish
to. I'll promise not to try to get away from you till after
we have crossed the line. I know that you have fixed it
so this train will not stop at White Pass till it has crossed
the border. Then the marshal will be on hand to grab
me. Now, if you'll take off these handcuffs, it will give me
a chance. As soon as we have crossed the boundary line,
I'll not be afraid of you fellows any longer and the marshal
is the only one. You know I can make it deuced uncom
fortable right here and now among all these people if I make
trouble. Say, give a fellow a chance."
The constable consulted with his partner, who until this
hadn't said a word. "Sure," the other fellow said, "if he
won't try to get away, I wouldn't keep the bloody things
on him. And sure he cawn't get away from the two of us,
anyway." So the senior constable took the handcuffs off and prom
ised, on my asking it, not to tell the marshal anything of
what I had said. At noon the train stopped at Bennett
and I went with my guards to the dining hall in the station
to eat dinner without handcuffs, to the marshal's great
surprise. In the train again I began to think of what might have
been. Had I been a good, steady worker this past summer,
I might now have been on my way south to claim my girl,
or I might have been building my home somewhere, per
haps by the little lake on the peninsula. And here I was
on my way to jail to be tried for a felony. Yet, who knows
if this thing were not necessary for my development, I
thought, and I was not so bad off after all. I was at least
respected by my guards. That was one consolation. Then
my thoughts drifted back to more practical channels and

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 137
again I figured on my getaway. I looked the window over
carefully. If it were pulled up half way, that would give
me barely room to slide out. There was nothing that could
catch my clothes and I would slip through like an eel as
soon as the train crossed the border. I couldn't help smiling
when I thought how I was going to fool the marshal again.
The constables had been watching me and, no doubt, divined
my purpose, for one of them winked at me and said quietly,
"I hope you will make it."
As we were nearing the summit called White Pass where
the boundary line runs, the marshal joined our little party.
He tried to start a conversation, but I did not care to talk
and neither did the constables, it seemed. I had opened the
window some time before and, luckily, the car was close
and stuffy, for the air that came in was decidedly chill and
would otherwise have caused some one to request that the
window be lowered.
Now the cars were jerked ahead, the brakes shrieked and
we slacked up. We were entering the White Pass snow-
shed. I was lounging in my seat, humming a song, but my
mind was alert and my muscles ready to respond when the
time came. I kept my attention fixed on the marshal,
waiting for the momenjt the car would pass the White Pass
station house. Then I would be in the United States and
he would be my only guard.
The constables were watching both the marshal and
me. They seemed to be waiting on their nerves. I did
not let them wait long. Our car passed the lights of the
station house and my hands, which had been lying idle on
the window sill, now had the sill in a firm grip; my head
and shoulders flashed swiftly through the little open space.
But even as my body was falling, I felt something push
against my legs and pin them to the window sill. It all
happened in a second, but I was a moment too late. The
train had stopped. I was hanging outside, my head and
body down, and my legs held inside by some one's lying on
them. Then I heard the marshal say, "I am the U. S.

138 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
marshal and I require your help in arresting this criminal."
Then some more talk and then several hands grabbed my
feet and legs and dragged me in through the window to the
car again. They let go and backed away. A couple of men,
brakemen off the train, and the marshal were facing me.
I looked around to see if there were no other avenue of
escape, but there was none. The marshal had his gun
pointed at my breast, and by the way he looked at me, I
could tell he would shoot, all right. I had failed and quickly
made up my mind that now was not the time.
"All right, marshal," I said quietly, "I am ready to go
with you."
'I don't like to do this," he said, as he fastened the hand
cuffs on me, but any one looking at him could see that he
was mighty glad to get them safely on.
He took me into the baggage car away from the curious
eyes of the passengers. I couldn't help liking him for that.
"By God, Svend," he said, "you must have been going
some ! How did you manage it ? Where did you go first ?
You dropped out of sight completely and we were abso
lutely at a loss till we heard from Pleasant Camp that you
had come through there with a big pack, a gun and every
thing." I could see that he wanted to draw me out about the
people who helped me and of course I couldn't think of
telling the truth. But I told him lots of things about my
self, my ambition and my object in being up there.
"It will not be so bad, I think," he said. "If you hadn't
taken that money, you would have been O. K. and the com
missioner could have sentenced you. Anyway, we are
going to do all we can for you. Public sentiment is with
you, and if you had stayed in Skagway when you broke out,
you would have had an easy time getting away. Most
anybody would have helped you. I haven't anything against
you myself, but of course I got to do my duty."
There it was again. He had to do his duty. The public
would have helped me get away; they didn't consider me

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 139
a criminal nor a menace, but the representatives of the public
safety seemed in duty bound to lock me up and to make a
criminal of me. I wondered if it were right that I should
be locked up in a cage. I didn't believe it could do me
any good, neither could I see where society could benefit
by it.
The train rolled into Skagway. "We'll wait till the rush
is over," my guardian said, "then we'll get off on the
opposite side from the station and walk up town." So' we
waited a while and then went through the cars to> the back
of the train. I was much interested in the people we passed.
Some of the women turned their faces away as if trying
not to breathe the air I was polluting with my presence;
some stared insolently at me, and some were keenly inter
ested in me, while others even nodded a bit to me or smiled.
Somehow, I didn't feel that I was an outlaw while I was out
there on the street, but when we reached the courthouse
and I was searched from the soles of my shoes to the rim
of my hat and the heavy thud had shut me off from the
world I love, the spell broke and I was a prisoner once
more. Again in a gloomy cage !
There were two men in the jail now besides me. They
looked me over and grinned to me. "Eh heh," one of them
grunted, "you gave them a good chase. Why didn't you stay
in some longshoreman's cabin right here in Skagway ? Any
one of them would have taken you in and then you could
have made it out on a boat easy enough."
T didn't know anybody here. I might have gone into the
wrong cabin," I answered. "I took the trail they would
least suspect me of taking over the mountain where there
is no: trail."
"Yes, you had them fooled, all right, for a while, any
way. Some cursed telltale up the river somewhere squealed
and they learned where you was going, then Shorty Cham
bers in White Horse gave you away up there."
"How do you know that?"
"Oh, that's easy. The marshal got a letter and I sweep

140 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
out his office. Take it from me, kid, the prisoners in any
jail knows all about what is going on in the courthouse."
'Well, it's done with now," I said, "and it's no use figuring
out how it might have been. How to do it next time, that
is the question."
"The hell ! the hell ! you're not going to try it again, are
you?" "No, I don't think they'll give me the chance, but they'd
better not leave the door open."
This was idle talk, however, for I was tired and soul sick.
I lay down and rested till supper time. After supper, I
turned in and slept soundly all night, awakening in the
morning to find that my cell door had been locked while
I was asleep. The new jailer was not taking any chances
and did not let me out till the marshal was there, too, and
one of them had snapped a pair of leg irons on my ankles,
making it impossible for me to be anything but good. My
partners in captivity think I'll get something between five
and fourteen years. I don't believe I'd last even five years
in prison. It seems I shall either die or go crazy if they
keep me locked up very long. I am going to give these two
long installments that I have written to one of the prisoners
to get mailed for me. I had them stashed under my arm
against my body and they didn't find them when they
searched me. Day after to-morrow I am to be taken to
Juneau. I am your friend, Svend.

Federal Prison,
Juneau, Alaska.
Oct. 5, 1914.
I am now in a real prison. We reached Juneau, my
guards and I, in the night. They brought me up here
right away. The air was heavy with fog and it was raining.
The prison looked dreadfully big, gloomy and menacing
to me as we approached it. It stands on top of a high bluff

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 141
by the edge of the fiord and it looked as if it towered to the
very skies in the dark, misty night. At the foot of the
structure was an iron door, which, at the knock of my
guards, opened like the maw of a silent monster. I was
pushed in and swallowed by it. I found myself in a plain
cellar with white, concrete walls. A desk stood in the
corner, a bench was against one wall and a few chairs were
scattered about. That was all. There were four men
sitting about, old men, they were, and in the pale light they
looked wan and lifeless as they stood around watching my
guards search through my clothes again for some possible
knife, file or something. Then, when they were sure I had
nothing, one of them opened an iron door at one side and
there behind it was a cage, just like an animal's, with a
walk around it. I had heard the marshal from Skagway
whisper to one of the jail guards to have me put in the bad
man's cage and I was expecting to be placed in solitary
confinement, but there were inmates in the cage into which
I was shoved, for I could dimly see them peering at me
from their cells along one wall. Then the door banged
shut behind me and the bolts and bars clanged as they swung
into place and I was buried alive.
A table stood in the center of the cage with a bench on
each side. A hydrant and a small sink were in one end,
also a bathroom partitioned off, all in a space thirty feet
square. I counted six cells with two bunks in each. As
far as I could see, the cells were all occupied, so I sat down
by the table and tried to sleep with my head on my arms.
After a while the outer door opened and the turnkey ordered
me over in the corner farthest from the door. When I
reached there, the inner door was opened and two men
brought in a mattress, pillow, and some blankets. There
was an empty bed in one of the cells and I was told to
make my bed there and go to sleep.
Several times in the night I was awakened by one of the
guards walking around the cage, flashing his searchlight in
through the bars now and again, peering at the sleeping

142 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
prisoners. It was all very strange, very crushing and very
awe-inspiring. I was a prisoner in a real prison, being
constantly watched over by armed guards !
Morning came and one of the guards rattled his keys on
the iron bars of the cage. The prisoners all got up, washed
and dressed. They were a motley lot, three Japanese, a
mulatto, an Indian boy, a half-breed, two ex-soldiers whom
I knew, an Irishman, who looked like a sausage German,
fat, complacent and satisfied, besides two other men, one
who looked like an old timer, the other a tall, pale, young
person with an evil gleam in his eyes. I immediately took
a dislike to him.
The three Japanese are in for murder; one of them has
already been sentenced to be hanged. He looks like a
nice, little fellow and it is a shame that he must be mur
dered like that. But he has killed a white man and the
white men must have revenge. The other two are to be
tried for killing a Chinaman at a cannery. The old timer,
who has keen, sparkling, blue eyes and long, red mustaches,
is to be tried for murder. He killed his partner while they
were out prospecting. I must say that he doesn't look like
a murderer, for his eyes are very kind and his face is
good. Then there are the two ex-soldiers. They got drunk
and took it into their heads to rob an Indian's cabin of a
lot of furs and some curios that were very valuable. Then
they took some of the things and tried to peddle them to
get money for more booze. Of course, they were caught
and have been sentenced to one year apiece. They are
nothing but two fool kids who ought to be in some school
instead of in jail. Surely, they are not learning to be
good in here with nothing to do but to sit around and play
cards and idle the time away. I, myself, am almost crazy
from being here. My head has been aching ever since I
came, and until I started this writing, I haven't been able
to keep a constructive thought in my mind for two seconds.
I have been walking and walking around, staring at the

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 143
bars, my head throbbing with pain. I know that I cannot
live very long here. I shall surely die soon.
But I must forget about that and write while I can.
That. Indian robbed a store while he was drunk. He, too,
is nothing but a kid. He doesn't know how old he is but
I'll bet he is not over seventeen. Then there is the mulatto.
He is not over twenty years old, and sings or whistles all
day long. He knows all kinds of melodies, from American
ragtime to pieces of Faust, Carmen, Orpheus and many
other operas that goodness knows where he has picked up.
He came up here two years ago, and immediately on his
arrival, met an Indian woman and bought whiskey for her
as she asked him. Then he was arrested and sentenced to
six months. As soon as he got out, he repeated the offense
and this is the third time he has been in, for a year this
time. Punishing him like this evidently does not keep him
from giving whiskey to the Indians, so why not send him to
a school and give him a chance to learn something? He
would make a splendid musician I am sure and I don't be
lieve that would cost the people more than to have him tried
repeatedly and kept year after year in jail. There is some
misunderstanding somewhere.
The Irishman has forged a check and has just received
two years in the Federal prison. Then there is the tall,
young man I spoke of. He is doing ten months for stealing
a watch out of another man's pocket.
That's the whole population of this little world. They
are all pale and sickly looking, partly due, I think, to the
electric lights, but mostly to being cooped up like this and
not getting sufficient exercise. The trusties bring our meals
here and take the pans and dishes away. Sometimes the
tall, young fellow takes them from the door and sometimes
Joe does. They are safe men. The rest, of us must crowd
up in the opposite corner of the room before the guards
will open.
I am only allowed to send one letter a week. That, in
spite of the fact that I have not yet been tried, and am

144 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
supposed to be considered innocent. The jailer reads
everything that comes in here and everything that goes out
in the way of mail. I don't think he has a right to read
a man's personal letters before he has been tried and found
guilty, for, according to my understanding of the law, a
man is held innocent until he has been proved guilty. But
maybe the jailer doesn't know this. I will have to write
more letters than one a week, for I have many friends to
whom I should write and I must write to my mother once
in a while.
Marian, if you receive this installment of my aiary, you
must know that I never hope to have you for a partner, for
when I am through here, if I do not die, I will be an ex-
convict and no good to anybody. And when you meet
the man who will be your husband, tell him about me and
that I am writing to you only as a friend and that you do
me a great service to let me write.

Federal Prison,
Juneau, Alaska.
Oct. 15, 1914.
I received three letters from her that were forwarded
from Haines. They were written a couple of months ago,
and as I read them the glorious times I had last summer
came back to me and I am certainly thankful that I can
live in the memories of them. Her letters cheered me, but
still I couldn't help feeling crushed by all that I had lost.
But I mustn't think about that, for when I do, my mind
seems to quit thinking and I walk and walk around the
cage, staring at the infernal bars that are barriers between
me and life. Yes, it is life out there ! I can hear the blasts
of the mines up in the hills and the rattle of the ore trains.
I can hear the steamboat whistles echo from mountain range
to mountain range. I can hear the busy hum of the town
below this fortress of living dead, and at times I can hear
the sea gulls screaming. I can hear all these things but
I cannot see them nor feel them nor smell them. All

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 145
around me are iron bars and iron doors that rattle and
clang when they open and close, and every fifteen minutes
the heavy footsteps of the guard as he walks around the
cage peering at us from under bushy, gray eyebrows. Oh,
this is death to me ! I, who used to get up from my bed in
the camp early, early in the morning to run and sing and
shout with the joy of life; I, who used to climb the highest
mountains to hunt the goat and the sheep; I, who used to
roam along nameless rivers and through strange valleys
like the freest and most fearless of animals, am locked in
a dark and gloomy cage with a crowd of pale faced, un
healthy degenerates. I, who used to dream of love and
life and the ideal, must live in a cell with no hope but
death or ruin. Perhaps, if I knew how long I had to stay
here, I would not mind it so> much. I could begin to figure
how many days I would have to stay, how many minutes. It
is the uncertainty of it that is so depressing. I don't know
what is to become of me. I don't even know if I am really
I, or if this is some hideous dream that I ani having. Oh,
if it were only a dream and I could wake up some fine
morning in my camp out somewhere in God's green woods !
But no, no, no! I am shut off from it all, buried alive in
this barred hell. My head is aching and I am very, very
sorry for myself.

At Oden's Lake, Alaska.
Oct. 29, 1914.
I am free once more! I have run over the land and
rowed over the water and have put a hundred miles between
me and Juneau. But let me begin at the beginning.
When I had been in the Juneau prison about a week, I
began to realize that I would surely die if I stayed there
very long. I worried and worried, trying to think of some
plan of escape. Finally, I decided to rush the guards and
take a chance of getting through without being shot. The
guards were very much afraid of me, however, and wouldn't
open the door unless I was in the farthest corner of the

146 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
cage. I had to do something to get them to trust me, so
I asked for an audience with the prosecuting attorney. I
told the whole story and he wrote it down, word for word.
I explained that I had decided to plead guilty and that I
would like to be sentenced as soon as possible; that I had
ceased to struggle against my fate and wanted to get through
this trouble as soon as I could. He promised to have my
trial hurried up, but made me understand that in case I
should change my mind, they would not use this statement
against me. I said that I was guilty and wasn't going to
plead anything else. They led me back to the cage and
the jailer shook hands with me and said he was glad I
had stopped being foolish and that I'd not get more than
six months if I'd be good. I said that I could see no use
in being anything but good, and so I was locked up again.
The next day that young fellow, the two ex-soldiers, and
Joe were taken to another cage, the big cage, they call it.
Of the prisoners that were left in our cage, the little half-
breed boy and I were the most safe, so we got the job of
taking the dishes from the trusties at the door. The first
few times the guards watched me pretty closely, but when
they saw that I didn't make any false moves, they relaxed
their vigilance and talked nicely to me whenever they had
a chance. But I was planning all the time, now finding out
one thing about the outside, and now another. One of the
ex-soldiers became a trusty and he told me while he was
sweeping around the cage in the morning, that there was a
high wall on the outside of the building, but a path led down
to the foot of the cliff and I made a mental picture of it.
After supper one night I gathered up the dishes and
when the trusties came for them, I took them to the door.
There were two guards besides the turnkey, one on each
side of the door when he opened it. The heavy door swung
open just as one of the guards was inquiring about my
health. "I am fine," I said, and when the trusty reached for
the dishpan full of knives, forks and plates, I threw them
up against the ceiling of the corridor and darted in under

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 147
them to the passage that led to the kitchen. The dishes
made an awful clatter and, no doubt, confused the guards
tremendously, for I didn't hear them call "Halt" or any
thing. The outside door to the cook shack was open and
I flew through it and around the corner of the building
to where I thought the trail led to the foot of the cliff and
the beach. It was pitch dark and I did not hit the path but
ran right off the wall and fell into the darkness.
I landed on my head and shoulders and rolled over and
over down a slippery, muddy slide, landing against a shack
at the bottom. I was surprised to find that I wasn't all
broken up. I had banged one of my knees against a rock
or something and was bruised, and the little finger on my
left hand was broken over backwards and out of joint. I
picked myself up and looked about. Right above me was a
plank road built on piles. I crawled up on it and ran along
through the rain out of town and on to the Salmon Creek
road without meeting any one. I was in shirt sleeves and
bare headed and was soon wet to the skin, but I was free
and on the trail and going somewhere. I passed Salmon
Creek and came to where the road runs through deep
woods with overhanging spruce trees. Here it was so dark
that I had to feel my way with my feet and so could not go
very fast. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of a light a little
way ahead of me. Some one was striking matches in the
middle of the road. I stepped quietly down into the ditch
and moved cautiously along. As I drew nearer I could see
by the matches the form of a man sprawling on a bridge.
I could hear him cursing and talking to himself and I
thought he was hurt, so I hurried up to him and helped
him to his feet. With many hiccoughs and curses he told me
that he and his partners were going on a hunting trip on
Admiralty Island. They had been camped outside of town
about four miles, waiting for the tide to turn so they could
get out of the channel and into Icy Strait. He had gone
to town to buy some more whiskey and on the way back
he missed the camp and "kind of lost my head," and kept

148 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
on walking till he reached Knudsen's ranch. There they
had given him a handful of matches and sent him back on
the right road to town. He was now quite sobered up
but he was sick and couldn't see where he was going. I
got him off the bridge and was about to leave him, when
I thought that I had better post him as to what to say if
he were questioned about seeing any one. He sounded like
the kind of fellow one could depend upon, even though
he had been drunk.
"See here, friend," I said earnestly to hold his attention,
"I have just broken out of jail and am trying to make my
getaway. If any one asks you if you have seen me on this
road, you will say no, won't you ?"
"You bet I will," he said with decision. "But say, I got
it. You come with me. The bunch I'm with is all right.
We're going to be hunting for a couple of weeks and by the
time we get back, the excitement will have died down and
you can step on board some boat and get below easily
enough. Come on."
So we went back to town together, but when we came to
their cabin, we found it empty! We rushed to the beach
and searched for the boat, but it was gone. When the
tide was right they had left, leaving my new friend behind.
This changed the situation entirely for me and I had
to begin making a. new set of plans. We decided to rest
a while and then to go to Knudgen's ranch, cross the bar
to Douglas Island and see if the men were encamped down
there somewhere. We put some big chunks of wood on the
fire and lay down beside it. I used an empty tomato can
for a pillow in the Japanese fashion and rested very well
indeed, but not for long, for my friend was anxious to be
going and so was I. After putting out the fire we hiked
off through the wet grass of the swamp to the road. Right
after daylight we reached Knudsen's ranch. My partner
was almost worn out, so we decided to try to get something
to eat.

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 149
Mrs. Knudsen was very kind and gave us a good break
fast of hot cakes and coffee.
After we left them, we walked over a wide, grassy
meadow to the beach. The tide was low and left the
channel across the bar high and dry. We hurried across,
for the bar is two miles wide and the tide comes as fast
as it goes. We strolled along the beach for about four
miles and then met a couple of boys who were going to
Juneau. My partner went with them, but I kept on along
the beach, hoping to find a boat or something in which I
could get away.
Toward evening I came to a log cabin in the edge of the
woods. I sneaked up to it and heard men talking inside.
When I heard them speaking Norwegian, I came out of
the brush and went in to them. I knew one of them, for he
was in Porcupine when I was there, and had also been
in the stampede. I told them how things were with me
and they said they had a boat they would give me. I ate
with them and after supper one of them fetched a small
skiff from up a slough where they had cached it.
I asked them not to tell any one they had seen me and
they said they wouldn't. As soon as darkness fell I started
across the bay. I had decided to row the hundred odd
miles to Skagway and to try to get aboard a Canadian
steamer there. I felt sure that I could borrow money
from some of my soldier friends, and by disguising my
appearance a bit, I could get through Skagway all right.
The weather was calm and it was pitch dark, but I was
not afraid of getting lost, for there were lighthouses and
blinkers all along the beach and I knew that if I stayed
with the shore and kept on rowing, I would get up Lynn
Canal past Haines to Skagway sooner or later. At day
break I came to a small island where I landed and tried
to make a fire, but the matches my Norwegian friends had
given me, had become wet and I was out of luck. They
had also given me a half loaf of bread and four large
potatoes. They hadn't had much themselves and I was

150 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
very thankful for what they had given me. I ate the bread
and saved the potatoes for another time; then, as it was
raining and I was getting cold, I climbed into my skiff and
rowed cautiously on along the cliffs of the islands till I came
to Berner's Bay late that afternoon, almost fifty miles from
Juneau. The Norwegians had given me an old hat and a rain
coat, but they were both worn out and I had been wet all
night and day. But I had a good big meal before starting,
and with the rowing and the half loaf of bread in the
morning, I had kept quite warm. Out in the middle of Ber
ner's Bay a cold north wind with rain sprang up and I
had to buck it, and in spite of the hard rowing I had to
do, I grew cold; but I kept on for about four hours until
I reached the other side of the bay. When the bow of
my boat finally scraped on the pebbly beach of the cove
I entered, my fingers were so cold and stiff and tired that
I could not let go of the oars but had to break them loose
on my knees. I ate a couple of raw potatoes and tried to
sleep on the moss at the foot of a tree that stood close
to an overhanging cliff, but I was too cold and wet and
couldn't make it. My body shook and my muscles knotted
in cramps. There was only one thing that I could do and
that was to keep on rowing, so I went back to the skiff
and rowed on along the shore.
The wind from the north had died out and the water
had quieted down, except for a heavy ground swell that
came from the other side of the fiord where, through the
evening gloom, I could see white breakers driven along by
a north gale. I rowed along a ragged shore with innumer
able points and little bays and reefs. Darkness came and
the cliffs began to look like houses and the rocks along the
beach like docks and stairways. Several times I thought
sure I saw a little cabin in there and rowed in to investigate,
but every time it was only some large rock. The swells
pounded on the beach and they made a noise like trains
rumblng past and once or twice I thought I saw a train

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 151
passing when a long swell broke against the rocks. The
moon came out and shone on the sleek, gray, granite cliffs,
making them look like long rows of houses with lighted
windows. Constantly I wanted to make for the shore and go
up those nice stairs to the people who called to me from the
streets, but my inner self told me that the hum of voices
I heard was only the pounding of the swells against the
rocks and that it was better for me to stay out on the water
and keep rowing. I was so sleepy and tired that I was not
quite sure I knew where I was but I kept on and on, for
to keep on was what I was in the boat for and I never failed
to be aware of that.
I passed some piles that were standing out of the water
and in a little bay there was a cabin. I was sure about it
this time, for the moon was high and shone on its window
panes. I rowed up to the sandy beach, broke loose my
fingers from the oars, threw over my rock anchor and
walked up to> the cabin. It was open and there was no
one there. There was nothing there. I felt on the shelves
and in the cupboard, but they were empty. I could not
even find a match. There was a bedstead but no bedclothes,
and there wasn't a rag of old clothes or anything that I
could see.
I took off my rain coat and put it over me as I lay down
on the bare boards of the bunk. I lay there and shivered
all night long. Toward morning it seemed to grow warmer
and I actually fell asleep. I woke up some time in the
forenoon and began to look around for something to eat.
I ate the rest of my raw potatoes and I saw where a smoked
salmon had lain on the floor. The mice had eaten most of
it, but the skin was left, as were a few scattered crumbs
here and there. I picked up each minute piece and ate it,
chewing it well to make the most of it. Outside the door
I found a half slice of bread in the grass. It was all swollen
and like mush from the rain, but it was food and I ate it,
too, taking care not to waste one bit of it. I searched all
over but that was absolutely all the food that was to be

152 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
found around there, so I went down to the beach, emptied
the water out of my boat and started toward the north
again. A strong north wind was blowing and I made but
little progress. During the day I passed another trap cabin,
but it, too, was absolutely devoid of food, though I found an
old, soiled quilt, which I took along with me.
I rowed against the wind all the rest of that day, stopping
now and again at some creek to drink water, for water was
all that I would get till I reached Haines. In the evening
the wind died down and I made better time. Just after
dark I passed Point Sherman and then the wind sprang up
from the south. It came in sharp, stiff puffs at first, but
grew steadier and steadier and at last became a strong gale
that swept me along over the water. Away ahead, in the
middle of the canal, I could see the lighthouse on Eldred
Rock. I knew that there was a lighthouse tender there
and decided to make for it and try to make a landing. The
keeper would surely feed me and take me in and no one
would think of coming there to ask about a runaway pris
oner. It didn't seem so very far to the light, but though I
rowed and rowed and was blown along by the wind, I ap
parently got no nearer. The waves grew larger and long
white caps began to break all about me. I began to be
worried and when a breaker came over the stern of the
boat half filling it, I became really frightened. I grabbed
the bailing can and bailed out as fast as I could, then I
plied my oars, headed for the lighthouse again, but a great
breaker rose out of the black, phosphorescent deep and
with its white crest, rushed up on me and broke into the
boat. This time I was nearly swamped, and, as the water
kept coming in, it was a long time before I got my little
craft bailed out again. The lighthouse was still a long way
off and I saw that I could never make it in that sea so I
headed for the shore.
I rowed close in to the shore, but there was no place to
land, just great, big mountains rising straight up from the

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 153
water's edge. There was a point ahead of me. I could see
the dark outline of the rock and the white line where the
waves broke madly on the reef. There might be shelter
behind that, I thought, and held out a little to keep off the
reef. There was the thunder of crashing waves as I
passed and swung the nose of my skiff toward the shore.
A few hurried strokes and I was in a little bay some twenty
feet deep and only six feet wide. It was merely a crevice
between two great bowlders that had fallen off the mountain
to form this little harbor. I fastened my boat to one of the
rocks and crawled up on the shore, looking for some shel
tered spot so that I might lie down, but the cliff was bare
and the wet wind swept over it. There was shelter down in
my boat, though, and I climbed down there again, bailed her
out and'lay down in the bottom, the wet quilt over me. Here
I stayed all through the night, shivering and shaking and
with cramps in my arms and legs, bailing out now and again
to keep from lying in the water. The tide went out and left
us high and dry but I didn't sleep. I just lay there and
suffered with cold till the morning broke through the night
clouds and filled the fiord wth a gray, misty light. The
wind had abated somewhat, and as my business was to find
warmth and food, I pushed my little boat off the seaweedy
rocks and started another day's work. The rowing didn't
seem to warm me up, if what I did could be called rowing,
it was so desultory and ineffective; but the wind was with
me and kept me drifting along.
I felt that I could not possibly reach Skagway without
food, so I decided to make for Haines. I had to cross the
fiord, so I turned the bow of my skiff toward the islands
on the other side and rowed on. The sun broke through the
clouds and warmed things up a bit and I grew very, very
sleepy. I kept dropping over on my oars and my eyes
would close. It seemed as if there were some one in the
boat with me who' talked and kept shaking me to keep me
awake. I would wake with a start, trying to remember
where I was, then my head would clear and I would row

154 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
a while before dropping over again, and again some one
would shake me and shout in my ear. I cursed him and
fought him and we didn't seem to be in a boat at all but
up on a street where many people were passing, or standing
looking on at my fight with that fellow. Street cars were
gliding past, clanging their bells, and trains rushed over
head with shrill blasts of their whistles trying to wake me,
all trying to wake me. I rowed and swore and my back was
numb and aching and my hands froze to the oars. The
wind died down and evening fell. I had long since passed
the Chilkat Islands and was past Point Seduction half way
up the peninsula. A deep bay lay ahead of me. "It must
be Flat Bay," I thought dully and rowed on half uncon
scious. The bow of the skiff grated on the gravelly beach. I
looked up in wonderment. Where was I, anyway? I
couldn't remember. Everything seemed blurred and strange.
I tried to get to my feet, but the boat slipped from under
me and I fell into the water. A great dread settled over
me. "High tide line," I thought. "I must reach high tide
line." I crawled out of the water and started up the beach
on my hands and knees. My God, would I never reach
high tide line ! I lay down time and again and wanted to
sleep, but the thought, "High tide line," kept coming into
my head and driving me on. My body was so heavy! I
could hardly drag it over the pebbles. My head kept
dropping down into the gravel, my face hurt, but it would
drop down. I crawled on desperately. Now my hands
were in a lot of slimy seaweed. There were some sticks —
a little farther and everything would be all right. . . .
Something hard was pressing against my head. I moved
and it hurt; I moved again and began to wonder what it
was. I found myself lying on my face on a pile of sea
weed, sticks and stuff. I tried to get to my feet, but my
arms and legs were almost paralyzed and would not respond
to my efforts. I lay a long time trying, before I could get to

ONE MORE ATTEMPT AT FREEDOM 155
my hands and knees. It was morning. The sky was clear
and there had been a frost, for everything on the beach was
bedecked with a coating of white crystals. I crawled up
the beach to the ridge, overgrown with tall grass and weeds
and there, a little distance off, was a house, a real house!
I could get to my feet now, so I staggered over the meadow
to the place. I knocked on the door but no answer came.
Then I went in. It was a real house with a kitchen and a
living room. Nobody had been there for some time, how
ever, for there was moldy food on the table and the clock
had stopped. I rummaged around and found some bacon,
onions, flour, sugar and everything I needed. There was
kindling ready in the woodshed and soon I had a fire going
in the stove and bacon, potatoes and onions cooking. I
couldn't wait until they were done, but ate out of the frying
pan all the time they were cooking. I put a batch of biscuits
in the oven and made syrup and when the biscuits were
done, I ate and ate and ate. Then I fell asleep right there
in the kitchen, waking up to eat again. After that I slept
till late the next day, when I began to plan as to the next
move. It was dangerous to stay there. I wasn't acquainted
with the man to whom the house belonged, but in my caser
necessity knew no law. I had to take some of his grub, but
I resolved to pay for it as soon as I got on my feet. I
didn't take much, though, a chunk of bacon, a few pounds
of flour, some potatoes and a few other things that were
necessary. I put it all in a pack and carried it over the
beach to this, my lair, in a thicket on the brink of Odin's
Lake. This is the place I had picked for my home. Here
I had hoped some day to be happy with my mate. When
I came here two days ago> the sun was shining on the lake,
the trout were jumping clear out of the water for the last
bugs of the season, bluejays were hopping from limb to
limb to investigate their new neighbor and a flock of ducks
swam round in circles out there on the sunshiny water,
quacking disturbedly over my presence. Oh, I have lost
the finest place to live that I have ever seen! The quiet,

156 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
forest-enclosed lake surrounded by deep green spruce trees
with a rim of birches drooping over the crystal-clear water,
and the high, silent hill standing guard against the north
wind! And I have lost it! If they catch me, I shall never
be able to take up a homestead, for I shall be a citizen no
longer but an ex-convict. If they don't catch me, I can
never live here, for I am too well known. I wonder if I
could bequeath this paradise to Marian, so that if she ever
wishes to marry a man who wishes to take up a homestead,
she can send him here to look at this place first. It is worth
a long journey, just seeing this spot.
I walked to Fort Seward yesterday to see a friend about
getting some money to get away on. I learned from a sol
dier that the sergeant I was looking for had gone on a
fishing trip and was not to be back for several days, so I
came back here to stay for a few days longer. I am camped
under a large spruce tree in a very close thicket. There
is a cliff between my camp and the fiord and no< one can
see my smoke from below. They would have to climb the
cliff and look down on me to find me and no one would
think of doing that. It would be perfectly safe to stay
here, but that can't be done. I must out and away some
where where I am not known and where I can live like
other men. I'll go to the States or Canada and the little
world up here will soon forget that there ever was such a
person as Svend Norman.
I am getting drowsy and I think I will lie down and sleep
a while. I have some blankets I borrowed over at my
neighbor's ranch. I'll return them when I leave here. When
I go to Fort Seward in a couple of days, I will post this
installment.

CHAPTER XIV
FEDERAL PRISON, JUNEAU
On board the -S\ JT. Evans,
Nov. 4, 1914.
NO, I am not on my way to freedom but on my way
to jail. I have been struggling against Fate, un
changeable Fate. I am doomed to the penitentiary,
I can see that plainly enough now. I was safe, quite safe,
and yet I was caught. They were hunting me, of course,
but they had no idea where I was and were just strolling
about, hoping to find some trace of me and accidentally, ran
right into me. But I might as well tell how it came about.
Two days ago I went in to' the Post to see my friend. I
found that he would be back that evening. I didn't want
to be seen hanging around, so I hiked out into the woods
and hid during the day. It was cold and gray that day,
everything was frozen hard and toward evening it began
to snow. I made my way down to the Chilkat beach to
seek shelter in an old cannery there. A boat lay down
on the beach and I was curious to see whose it was. It
was not fastened, and as the tide was coming in, it was
about to float away. I pulled it up a bit and was taking the
painter to tie it tp a rock, when I saw some one coming
along the beach. He looked like a soldier and I thought
I would send a message to the Post by him, so I sat down
on the prow of the boat to wait.
When he came closer, I saw that he was not a soldier
but an old man, and then I supposed that he was a fisherman
and that this was his boat. When he came within fifty feet
of me he pulled out a great big, long revolver and yelled
157

158 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
for me to put up my hands. Even then I didn't suspect that
he was an officer, but supposed that he was a bit queer, as
so many old men are up here, and that he thought that I
was trying to steal something from his boat.
"Hey," I yelled good naturedly, "put that gun up. It
might go off. I'm not trying to steal anything from you."
The man came closer, stuck the muzzle of his gun right
into my stomach and just as I was wondering if I ought to
grab it and take it away from him, he said sternly in a voice
I seemed to know, "Put up your hands, Svend, and cut out
your foolishness. I've got you."
Then I recognized him. He was one of the jail guards.
I was so surprised that I forgot all about getting away,
but sat there in a daze, staring at him while he put hand
cuffs on me. After all my trouble, this was the result !
"Will you promise not to try to get away, or shall I put
leg irons on you, too?" Egan was saying.
"Promise? I promise nothing," I said bitterly enough,
"My business is getting away."
Three soldiers were coming along the road and the guard
hailed them.
"I need your assistance to get this man to jail."
One of the soldiers was a sergeant and he took in the
situation at a glance. He laughed heartily. "Lord, man,
you've got chains on him and you have a gun in your hand.
What more do you want?"
"I don't care," Egan said angrily. "He allows he'll get
away from me and he's as bad as they make 'em. I'm a
U. S. marshal and I deputize you fellows to help me get
this man to jail. He's a dangerous criminal."
The sergeant shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know
whether you have a right to do this or not," he said, "but
let that go. What do you want me to do?"
"You fellows stand by and follow us and if he tries to
get away from me, grab him!"
"All right," the sergeant said, and winked to me on the
side as if to say, "Kid, if you make a break for it, don't

FEDERAL PRISON, JUNEAU 159
worry about my getting you." Then we started along the
beach to town.
Of course I didn't get any chance to get away. Jack
Egan stayed right with me and had me by the arm with one
hand and a great big gun in the other. There was no need
for the three soldiers behind us at all. Besides, I wasn't
so very anxious to get away. I was hungry and hadn't
been extra warm out there in the woods and if I stayed with
my guard, I would soon get food and warmth and, what
was better than anything else, some mail from my friends.
Best of all, I might get a letter from her and that last was
perhaps even worth going to jail for. So I came along
without trouble.
Egan told me that the whole army was out looking for
me. He said that they had men on every road, at Porcu
pine, Pleasant Camp and Dalton Post. This last was, I
knew, a pure and simple fabrication, for it is impossible
to get across the summit at this time of year. He told
me that they had a regular cordon across the peninsula
and that I had no chance to get away. He tried to get the
sergeant to corroborate this, but the sergeant said that he
knew nothing about it and that he believed that the marshal
was talking through his hat.
"I will report you to the captain for assisting this crim
inal, by God !" Egan swore at him, and later I learned what
had made him so angry. After I had been locked in jail,
he was telling the Haines marshal about it.
"These are the damnedest people I have ever seen right
here in this town," he growled as he stamped up and down
in the little guardroom. "I knew damned well they all knew
where he was and not one of them would tell me. Several
of them even said they were sorry they didn't know, be
cause they would help him get away. I asked one of them
point blank if he would help an escaped prisoner and he
said, 'You're damned right. I'd help Svend Norman any
time.' "
And there it is again. My own townspeople would help

160 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
me against their own law administrators. I know better
than to steal. I couldn't steal again. I've learned my
lesson and I think I have already paid sufficient penalty
for my sin. But the marshal would shoot to kill, should
I try to get away from him. The marshal has nothing
against me particularly, but he has to do his duty to society,
which doesn't care particularly to have me in jail and would
rather have me out. Even the man whom I robbed came up
to see me when I was in the Skagway jail and said he was
sorry for me and that everybody sympathized with me.
In Haines many of my friends came to see me. Some of
them came who really felt sorry for me and they offered
financial assistance and real help, while others came only
to look at me. My guards were very anxious about my
safe-keeping and kept irons on me all the time. The night
I spent there I was locked in the dark cell with irons on
my legs and Egan slept outside the door. He would be
sure I did not get away among all those criminally friendly
Haines people.
In the early morning the boat came and they took me
on board and locked me in a stateroom. This evening we
will reach Juneau and the jail again. But there will be
letters !

Federal Prison,
Juneau, Alaska,
Nov. 10, 1914.
I received her dear and cheerful letter. I oughtn't to
consider myself so unfortunate with such a good friend as
she is. It was very good of her to say that this business
doesn't make any difference in our relations, but from my
standpoint it does make a deep difference., for before I had
hoped some day to be able to make her my wife, while now
the most I can hope for is to be allowed to remain her
friend. When I get out, if there is anything left of me
to make anything out of, I'll go to Australia or some other
country and begin life anew. I have taken the opinion of

FEDERAL PRISON, JUNEAU 161
every prisoner here in the cage as to what length my term
will be and the average is eight years. Jail breaking is a
very serious offense, and though the guards say that I will
not be charged with that, it may be that they are only
telling me that to keep me from worrying. Anyway, I am
not going to break out any more. I have had my fling at
it and have lost. Now I am ready to take my medicine.
What it will be is a constant wonder and worry to me. The
Grand Jury sits in Ketchikan on the twentieth and I shall
be taken there for trial.
The ex-soldiers have been moved back to the bad man's
cage because they got into a fight in the other place. I re
ceived a hearty welcome when I came back here from my
mad dash for liberty, and the Irishman, who, before my
escape, had treated me somewhat aloofly, now respects me
quite a lot.
I don't believe I have said anything about the Kangaroo
Court. It's quite an institution. The first morning I was
here, one of the prisoners took out a large, loose leafed
book and called for order in the cage. This was Harry,
one of the ex-soldiers. The other, Carl his name is, took
the long bench from the side of the table and put it against
the wall. All the rest of the prisoners came and sat down
on it in silence. Then Harry, who was judge, rapped with
a small gavel for silence and Carl, w1h> was sheriff of the
court, came to me and said that I was under arrest. I had
to smile, he was so serious about it. He escorted me to
where the judge was sitting, watching the proceedings
soberly. Then Carl called loudly, "Hear ye, hear ye, hear
ye! The Kangaroo Court of this jail is now in session.
Honor the judge," and sat down.
"What's your name," the judge inquired.
I told him and he put it in the book.
"It is customary in this jail to try each prisoner by the
Kangaroo Court," he began. "First, I want you to under
stand what this court is and how it benefits every man who
comes here. Every new prisoner who enters this cage is

162 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
tried by us and fined two dollars. This money is used to
buy sugar, milk, apples, tobacco, stamps and stationery,
which are used in common by all of the prisoners. If a
prisoner hasn't the money but has prospects of getting some,
we can wait till he gets it. If he hasn't any money at all,
he is sentenced to work out his fine at the rate of twenty-
five cents a day, either cleaning the table after each meal,
or sweeping the floor after each meal. Article One reads:
'Any man who enters this jail without the consent of the
inmates will be fined two dollars.' That is what you are
charged with. Are you guilty or not guilty ?"
"I am guilty," I said.
"All right, are you willing to pay your fine?"
"I am," I assured him, "but I haven't any money yet. I
have some coining from a friend. I don't mind sweeping
the floor, but I'll pay the money when I get it just the
same." That was all right, the judge assured me, and after sign
ing my name to a bill for an order on the money when it
should come, the court was adjourned and I was a full
fledged member of their organization.
It's a very useful thing, this court. The sheriff keeps a
timetable, making every member take his turn at sweeping
the floor and scrubbing the table. Every Saturday the
whole bunch turns out and scrubs the cage and in the bath
room the sheriff has a tablet where each prisoner records
when he takes a bath. When a man who is lousy comes into
the cage, the sheriff sends for insect powder and sees to it
that the man gets rid of the pest, and I suppose there are
many other ways which I don't know about, in which
Kangaroo Court is beneficial.
A new prisoner has come here, a French Canadian named
John, charged with forging a check for six hundred dol
lars. He says he is guilty, so it won't hurt if I write about
it. He was a steward aboard one of the boats and found
this check belonging to a fisherman, in a stateroom. He
took it up to a bank in Juneau, getting the owner of a pool

FEDERAL PRISON, JUNEAU 163
hall here in Juneau to indorse it, and with the money got
away to Seattle. There he had a great time spending it, he
said, but two plain clothes men arrested him and brought
him here.
"I'll probably get a year," John said. "I'll make six
hundred dollars in that year, and the only difference from
working is that I won't have to work and I have already
spent the money."
Now, that's what I call a queer way of looking at the
matter. Evidently jail has no terrors for John. He doesn't
seem to think he. has done anything wrong; indeed, he
thinks he was pretty smart to get the check cashed and
get away with the money before they caught him. What
to do with a man like that is a real problem. What he lacks
most is a social conscience. He doesn't realize the inter
dependence of all men. Now, I know it was wrong of me
to break into that store and I feel that I ought to make
reparation. I am not a child nor a fool; I knew better,
and had society put me to hard work for a month or so
and taken my earnings to pay for the damage done, I would
surely have felt that I was being justly treated. I think
that if John were put on hard labor until he had made good
the damage he had done, he would understand before it was
over that he had committed a wrong against his fellow man.
I am still bothered by headaches, but I think I shall get
over them. Ito, the little Japanese who is to be hanged,
told me he used to' have headaches, too, when he first came
in, but that he gradually became used to being here and now
he is perfectly adapted to it. He is a remarkably nice little
fellow; so pleasant, so little and so dainty. He is like a
little yellow pansy growing among tall weeds. It seems
impossible that he would have killed anybody, and still more
impossible that he is to be hanged. In the early morning,
before the other prisoners are up, Ito goes quietly to the
bathroom and takes a cold bath; then, when he is all fresh
and clean, he goes into his cell and offers up his morning
prayer on his knees by his bunk, whispering to his God. At

1 64 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
breakfast his face is quietly radiant, the face of a man
whose soul is at peace with God. He seldom speaks to
any one in the cage except when he is spoken to, but then
he is as pleasant and accommodating as can be. He is
always on the lookout to help or do some kind deed. I
didn't have paper to write on when I first came, for the two
sheets the jailer had given me were used up. I was not
through writing and was about to call the jailer to ask
for more paper, when Ito saw my need and came with a
whole handful of sheets.
"I have lots," he said simply and pleasantly. "My friends
give me."
John had no hair brush and was using the Irishman's,
who didn't like it a bit and looked angry and scowled and
it would have ended in some kind of a row, but Ito produced
an extra brush.
"I give you," he smiled. "I got two."
I am beginning to find out that being in jail is not as
bad as I thought it was. I walk around and around for
exercise, besides doing the setting up exercises that I learned
in the army. I think I shall at least be able to keep my body
in good shape while I am here. The Irishman tells me that
at McNeill's Island where the Federal Penitentiary is and
where I am sure to go, there is a big farm and a rock
quarry and all the prisoners work every day. I had im
agined that I would be locked up in a cage to sit and repent,
and I knew that would soon kill me, but if they let me
work, I shan't mind it. Thus, I am becoming resigned to
my fate, whatever it be. Whenever I see Ito's kind and
peaceful face, I feel ashamed of myself for "Having made
such a fuss over my trifling troubles. He is to be hanged
by the neck until he is dead!
The other two Japanese are very different from Ito. One
is Yamaguchi; the other Yamashita, yet they are not
brothers and are as different from each other as they both
are from Ito. Yamaguchi is short and strongly built, is
swarthy of complexion and has flashing, fiery, black eyes

FEDERAL PRISON, JUNEAU 165
that gleam through narrow slits. I can imagine his killing
a man, all right. He is quick of action and his talk is like
a machine gun's fire, it is so rapid and forceful, but under
his fiery surface Yamaguchi is kind, too. The other day
when one of his friends brought him a bag of apples, he
gave every one of us one of them, gave Ito two, and ate
only one himself.
Yamashita is rather tall for a Jap and looks more like a
Chinaman than a Japanese. His head is as round as a ball
and his nose is flat and he grins all the time, except when he
is praying in the morning. He says his prayers in a sing
song voice, kneeling on the floor with is arms stretched out
and his face on the bunk. Yamaguchi doesn't pray. He
scoffs at the others and doesn't believe in it.
"There is no God," he said vehemently when I asked him
about his religion.
But Yamashita thinks there is a God, though he says
he can't explain it in English. I always used to be preju
diced against the Japanese, I don't know why, but now
I find that I like them pretty well, perhaps even better than
some of the white men here.
The jailer is complaining about my dairy letters being
too long. He has to read every word of them, he says, so
I'd better not make this one any longer.

Ketchikan, Alaska.
Nov. 22, 1914
I am getting to be quite a traveler. If they keep me
traveling like this all the time I am in jail, I won't mind
it a bit. This is the fifth jail I have been in since I got
into this trouble, and while each is a little different from the
rest, there is one thing about them all and that is that now
I am used to them I feel quite at home.
There were sixteen of us who came from Juneau and at
Wrangell and Petersburg they picked up several more, all
to be indicted by the Grand Jury. When we left here,

1 66 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
the guards took us out of the cages, chained us together,
two and two in a long line, and thus they marched us down
to the steamboat. A gang of kids followed us, chasing up
and down the line, now looking at one pair of us, now at
another. I was chained to John and he laughed and made
grimaces at the kids, and before we reached the dock, the
whole bunch of them were laughing and yelling around John
and me and I was glad when we got aboard the Alki away
from the racket.
The guards locked us in staterooms and then took off
our handcuffs. Mine were not taken off, though, until
they had a big pair of leg chains around? my ankles, and
these were kept on till we reached Ketchikan the next after
noon. Then we were chained up again to be taken to the
jail there.
This courthouse, like the one in Juneau, stands impos
ingly on a hill, as if to dominate the town. In Europe I
have seen many cities and small towns and when there is
a hill like this in or near the town, usually there is a church
or cathedral on it, with the houses of the people clustered
about it like sheep seeking the protection of the shepherd.
Could it be that this courthouse stands in the position of
the church and that I am really a wolf about to be tried
by the good shepherd ? I cannot say that I feel like a wolf
or even like much of a sinner. It seems that I am ex
periencing a great adventure. Since I have seen and lived
with Ito, I have received lessons in fortitude, and had I
but a fraction of the trust in God that he has, I should
be a very happy man.
There are lots of different men in this jail, most of them
charged with giving liquor to Indians. It seems that the
men get drunk and then some Indian man or woman comes
along, asks for booze and gets it. Then the Indian comes
back for more and threatens to have the man arrested if
he doesn't give him more, and the end of it is quite in
evitable; the Indian becomes very drunk and the man is

FEDERAL PRISON, JUNEAU 167
put in jail by the marshal. The Indian is called as a
witness before the Commissioner, the Grand Jury and the
Court, drawing a witness fee all the time. One can see
where an Indian might find it an easy living, or quite a
help on the grocery bill, to get white men to give or sell
him liquor. Some of the men here claim that several of
the Indians actually make a practice of this business.
There are three Swedes here who built a log cabin for
themselves somewhere in the woods near Ketchikan. They
had no furniture, so they took some from an old deserted
cabin near the town. It happened to belong to some one
and he had the three men arrested for larceny. I don't
think they have ever been in jail before, for they are all
broken up about it and quarrel constantly about which one
of them was actually to blame. I would like to be at their
trial, for I think it will be very interesting to witness.
There is a little Japanese here who is the most beautifully
colored man I have ever seen. He is olive tinted, rosy pink
and his cheeks look so smooth and silky that one fairly
wants to touch them. He calls himself Richard and I
believe he is part white, for although he has no education
except what he has picked up, he is not tongue bound like
most orientals. What English he speaks, he pronounces
correctly and without accent.
I am getting pretty well acquainted with some of the
other men. One day one of the Mexicans asked me to
write a letter for him and since then I have written quite
a few. Some days they all get a writing streak on and I
have to do a dozen or more. One thing I find, and that is
that no matter how bad they are or what awful thing they
have done, there is some good in every one of them and a
lot of good in most of them. Even Julian, the Apache
whom the others call the Snake, has kindness in his heart,
for he gives away everything he has, from money to the
clothes off his back. To-morrow I expect to be taken
before the Grand Jury to be questioned and indicted.

168 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
Ketchikan, Alaska.
Nov. 26, 1914.
A few days have passed and I have caught up with my
corespondence. There is no limit to the letters we can
send here and everybody has been very busy writing or
having me write for them. I have written letters of love
to sweethearts, wives and mother^; letters to friends asking
for their assistance and letters thanking friends for favors.
The little Japanese had me write four letters of thanks
to people who had been good to him and had tried to help
him out of his present trouble.
He just told me the story this morning. He was working
in a sawmill in Ketchikan and had become acquainted with
an Indian girl, whom he had taken to the moving picture
show, to dances and around to- various places. Some Indian
lads had become jealous of him and had threatened to do
away with him if he didn't quit his attentions to the girl
of their race. One night when he was home, they had come
and knocked on his door. He got out of bed and took a
penknife, the only weapon he had, for he could tell by the
noises the Indians made that they were drunk. He quietly
drew the bolt and threw the door wide open, tumbling
the Indians in on him. He slashed to right and left, cutting
up two of them pretty badly, and all three withdrew, where
upon Richard, thinking it was over, went to bed again. The
Indians, however, went to the marshal and told him they
had been attacked by a Japanese and had him arrested.
This happened two months ago and Richard has been here
ever since, waiting for the Grand Jury to indict him. He
is charged with assault with a dangerous weapon with
intent to kill. It will be interesting to see what his luck
will be.
I was taken up before the Grand Jury yesterday. They
were in a large office with chairs all around the wall. Most
of them were elderly men, and though they were there
to investigate my case and others, they showed remark
ably little interest in their work. They were sitting round

FEDERAL PRISON, JUNEAU 169
in groups, talking and smoking, and the air in the room
was pungent with the unmistakable odor of stale whiskey.
My indictment was read aloud by some one and then one
of them asked me if I were guilty and when I said I was,
that was all there was to it. They didn't investigate why
or how. The indictment read that I had willfully, unlaw
fully, maliciously and feloniously with premeditated fore
thought, broken into that store and stolen said goods. Evi
dently, they had made it appear as bad as they could, but
the Grand Jury didn't care. They seemed merely to be
putting in the time to get it over with. I was taken back
down to the cage and another man taken up there, and
so it went all day. What's the good of a Grand Jury, any
way, when that is all they do ?
Have I actually committed a malicious felony with pre
meditated forethought? It doesn't seem to me that it
was that way. I can remember that I was very hungry.
It seems to me that the paper they read was more malicious
than I have ever been. I have seen many drawings of
justice with the scales and blindfolded eyes. The person
who drew up that paper must have been very prejudiced
against me or he must have been stark blind both to' sense
and justice. I wonder who it could have been. Surely, not
the man from the store, for he seemed kindly disposed to
ward me. Was it the Skagway marshal? I doubt if he
knows that many wicked words. If he did do it, he is a
hypocrite of the first water, for he was very nice to me.
I'll have to find out who makes those indictments, after
dinner. . . .
I have found out about the indictments. They gave some
of them to the men who are to plead not guilty, so they
or their lawyers can study them and prepare their defense.
They all look and read almost alike, with the exception
of the actual details of the various crimes of which they
are accused. They all did willfully, unlawfully, maliciously
and feloniously with premeditated forethought commit
their mistakes. It's merely a form they have of saying it

170 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
and it seems to me that they have chosen the most damning
form they could find. If I plead guilty to committing my
mistake, for that was what it really was, in the manner
they have put it, I brand myself a vicious criminal, not fit
to live among men. If I plead not guilty, my trial will
probably be delayed a long time, for they haven't made
ready to prosecute me. I surely want to get over this as
soon as I can, yet I don't like to plead guilty to doing such
an awful thing, but I did break into the store and I wouldn't
deny it to any one. Well, time will show what it is to> be.

CHAPTER XV
MY TRIAL — JOHN PUTS IT OVER
Ketchikan, Alaska.
Nov. 30, 1914.
AT last it is over and I know my fate. All the prison
ers who have promised to plead guilty were notified
that they were to go before the court yesterday
morning. They all shaved and spruced up in grand shape,
borrowing shirts and collars and whole suits from the men
who are to be tried later. They evidently wish to appear
as respectable as possible before the court. John shaved
himself and got a face massage from one of the men who
is a barber by trade. Then he put on a brand new shirt,
collar and cuffs with gold buttons and things. He put on
a fine new suit of clothes he had bought with his stolen
money and he offered to loan me his other suit, but I felt
that I would be more like myself in my overalls and mack-
inaw. When John got through, he looked more like a chorus
leader than a forger about to receive his sentence.
I didn't dress up but went as I was. We were taken to
the court in the afternoon. There were a dozen of us and
we just filled the two benches that were standing at one
side of the judge's throne. One by one we were called
up and asked if we had a lawyer. None of us had any
and the judge appointed for each of us the same lawyer
and then they sent us into a side chamber to consult with
him. Once again in the courtroom, the judge set the trials
of all the men who were to plead guilty for that same eve
ning and we were sent to the cage again for supper.
171

172 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
At eight o'clock we were all called up again and taken
to the courtroom. Our indictments were read one by one,
and after each had been read, the prisoner would stand up
and plead guilty. The lawyer would say a few words and
ask the judge to be lenient and the judge sat with his elbows
on the desk and his head resting on his hand and said
wearily, "Six months : one year : three months ;" and so
on, whenever the lawyer was through.
Then John's case was called. His indictment sounded
bad, very bad. John stood with bowed head, a white, per
fumed, silk handkerchief in his hand, with which he wiped
his eyes now and then.
The judge was moved to kindness by his misery. Such
a clean, well dressed young man, it was too bad. "Have
you anything to say for yourself?" he asked.
"I — I — didn't do it on purpose," — sniff, sniff, John
whined, "Your Honor — I was going to give the man his
check," — sniff, sniff — "but two of the other stewards said
I was a fool and made me cash it. They helped me spend
the money," — sniff, sniff — "I only got a suit of clothes and
my teeth fixed," — sniff, sniff. To look at him, one would
think he was a hard luck fellow, all right.
The prosecuting attorney, after asking the court's per
mission, said, "Your Honor, I have investigated this lad's
career and have written to his father. He comes from a
very good and respectable family and has always been a
good boy till this thing happened. His father wrote me
that John has been following a straight and narrow path
since he left home as far as he knew. Your Honor, I would
like to ask you to be lenient with the boy. I don't think he
is a criminal at heart and I am sure he won't do anything
wrong again."
The judge sat pondering a while, his head on his hand.
He was evidently surprised that the prosecuting attorney
should defend instead of prosecute. "Do you understand,"
he began, talking to John, "that the crime that you have

MY TRIAL— JOHN PUTS IT OVER 173
just plead guilty to is generally punished with from three
to fifteen years in the penitentiary?"
John burst into tears and boo-hooed like a child but he
didn't answer.
"I have considered your case, however," the court con
tinued, "and I have decided to be lenient with you. I will
give you fifteen months to be served in the Federal Jail
in Juneau."
"Thank you, Your Honor," John sniffed, and then my
name was called and I stood up.
My indictment was read by the clerk and the judge
looked coldly at me all the while, giving me the stubborn
feeling that I was facing an enemy. I had decided to tell
how I had come to make my mistake and that made me
even more determined to do so. After the thing was read,
the judge asked me if I were guilty or not guilty.
"I am guilty," I said, and was about to speak when my
lawyer was recognized by the judge.
I don't remember all he said, but I made up my mind
that when he was through I would speak for myself. The
judge asked the usual question, — "Have you anything to say
for yourself before I sentence you?"
"Yes, sir," I said, and he motioned for me to begin and
get it over with.
"I went over the Dalton trail to White Horse to look
for a job," I began. I would tell as much as I could, any
way. "I had been prospecting and my money was all used
up. There was no work in White Horse, so I hiked over
the railroad to Skagway, where I got enough money for a
nugget pin for a couple of meals. Then I was without
money again and was trying to get to Haines. I tried to
stow away on the Georgia, but the captain saw me and
chased me off. I was cold and hungry and it was raining
hard. I know now that I should never have let myself get
so hungry. I should have begged some food, but it is too
late to know that now. As I walked there in the street
that night, I thought of all the food that was in the stores

174 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
and all of a sudden I began planning to break into one of
them. And I did so. I took a gunny sack full of stuff and
some money. I knew I was doing wrong when I took the
money, but I had been broke so long that I was doing wrong
anyway, so I took it. That's how it happened. I had never
done anything like that before. If the court will investigate
my record, he will find that I have been a decent person. I
have no one here to defend me. There is no one here to
tell that I have been decent and respectable before I got into
this trouble, so I must do it myself. I have recently been
discharged from the United Stales army and I have an
honorable discharge here in my pocket if the court cares
to see it."
The prosecuting attorney was about to get up and I
could see by his eagerness to speak that he was about to
remind the court of my jail breaking, for the judge was
now plainly interested in me. I beat hm to it, however.
"And, sir, I have lived an outdoor life, always. I don't
believe I have ever spent a whole day inside a house, for
I can never remember having been sick. Then, when I
was locked up in jail, it depressed me awfully. I thought
that I would surely die and I escaped whenever I had the
least bit of a chance. Did you ever see a wild bird just
caught and put in a cage? It flies about frantically, and
give it the least opportunity, and it is gone out of the cage
to the free, clear outside. Your Honor, I was just like
that. To get out was all I could think of when I was
first locked up. You can't blame me for trying to get away.
I have learned that it is no use and that the law is stronger
than I; I have learned, also, that living in jail is not as
bad as I had thought it would be but, sir, if you will let
me go free and I can get a job, I can promise that I shall
never do any wrong again if I can help it. I ask the court
for a suspended sentence." It was the longest speech I
have ever made and I was surprised at my own eloquence.
The judge, too, was surprised and the prosecuting attorney

MY TRIAL— JOHN PUTS IT OVER 173
stared at me as if to say, "You sure have a nerve asking
for a suspended sentence after what you have done."
"Let me see your discharge," the judge said and I handed
it to one of the guards who stood by me and he took it
to' the bench.
The judge read it through carefully. "You have been
honorably discharged from the United States army," he
spoke and looked more kindly at me. "It says here that
the character of your service has been honest and faithful
and that your character is excellent. Now, Norman, this
is as good a recommendation as any one can have, one that
I must take into consideration. On account of your jail
breaking, it is impossible for me to give you a suspended
sentence. You have caused us enough expense and trouble
to justify our sending you to the penitentiary for a long
term. Let me tell you that if I send you there, they will
cut your hair close, put you in a suit of stripes with a
number on your back, and when you get out again, you will
be no good, no citizen and nobody will have any use for you.
During the time you have been in jail, you have shown your
self to be stubborn in your determination to obstruct justice
and we are forced to protect ourselves against you, so I
will sentence you to the penitentiary for fifteen . . ." he
lingered on the word and for a moment desperate thoughts
of fifteen years in the pen flew through my head. My
hands were resting on the back of a chair and my fingers
gripped the wood till my knuckles showed white. I would
leap for the window and jump out and fall to the foot of the
cliff on my head. Better death than fifteen years ! But the
judge said months — "fifteen months to be served in the
Juneau Federal Jail. I put it like this so that if you make
any more trouble for us, we can send you to the penitentiary
to serve your term."
I sat down, thankful and dazed. The next case was called
but I didn't hear what was going on any longer. I only
thought of what I would do in those fifteen months. John,
who was sitting along side of me, jabbed me in the ribs and

176 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
leered a wink at me. "Fifteen months, Svend," he whis
pered. "We get out on the same day."
Once more in the cage among the hubbub of voices,
"What did you get?" was the constant question. I lay
down on my bunk and tried to think. Things had certainly
turned out better than I had dreamed. If I got my six days
off for each month, which the law allows for good conduct,
then I would only have to serve one year. I would be
released on November 29th, 191 5. In the meantime, what
would I do? I would try to get some books to study and
I could write down my experiences on land and sea. That
would make the time go.
John came and sat down on my bunk. "Fifteen months,
Svend," he said, "Gee, but you are lucky! What did you
think of my spiel up there?" and he grinned a cunning,
wicked, joyous grin.
"Punk ! Damned punk !" I said with disgust. John had
a way of making a fellow's flesh creep. I turned my face
to the wall as if to go to sleep and he went away. The
ways of justice seemed very strange to me, but I thanked
my God that I did not have to go to the penitentiary. Thus
thinking, I fell asleep, and woke up this morning with
eleven months and twenty-nine days to do. I don't know
when we are going back to Juneau, but I don't think it
will be until after all the criminal cases have been tried.
That will surely be two weeks or so, anyway.

CHAPTER XVI

SERVING MY TERM

Ketchikan, Alaska.
Dec. 7, 1914.
RICHARD, the little Japanese, has been given a year
in the Juneau Federal Jail. The judge said, among
other things, that in America men did not fight with
knives, but I'll bet that if Richard had used a gun or club
or anything else, he would have received the same dose.
Although the whole thing is too bad, I know that Richard
will make the best of it. He will study and learn the
English language, and his punishment may become a benefit
to him.
Aside from the three Swedes, who are scared to death, I
have yet to see a prisoner who speaks respectfully of the
court of justice. Justice! These men don't think there is
such a thing and I, myself, am beginning to doubt if this
court represents justice.

Juneau, Alaska.
Dec. 25, 1914.
It seems like a long time since I have written. I have
been here for about two weeks, but it seems more like two
years to me. The weather has been very bad outside and
we have heard the rain splashing on the pavement away out
there through the thick windows. The world outside is
dark and wet and cold and our cage here in the cellar is
damp and gloomy, chilly and monotonous. I have tried to
write my experiences, but I don't seem to be able to do any
thing but walk around aimlessly. I have been very de
pressed the last few days. Everybody here has been, for
177

178 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
that matter. Maybe it is because it is Christmas and we
would all like to be with our friends. Every morning when
I wake up, I think of the long time I have to spend here,
and that since yesterday, only one day has gone by. I now
have eleven months and four days to do. It seems an
eternity, but I mustn't whine like this, for the time will
pass all right and I may yet have a chance to build my home
by Odin's Lake.

Juneau, Alaska.
Jan. 29, 1915.
I am still here in the cage with my fellow cage-men and
I am not going to escape, as I am quite adapted to the life
here. I have cut down on my food, till now I only eat a
few crusts of bread for breakfast and very little at the
other meals. I have found that the headaches were the
result of eating too much and not getting enough exercise.
I sit down most of the day now, either writing or read
ing. I wrote to the high school superintendent here in
Juneau and asked him if I could borrow some text books.
He sent me a whole set of high school text books and I
study them every day. In the morning after breakfast, I
write of my experiences until noon ; then we have two' slices
of bread and a cup of coffee. After that I sit down again
and study my school books till four. Then I walk around
the table for an hour or so till the trusties bring the supper,
and when we have eaten and the floor is swept and the
table scrubbed, I sometimes read a magazine and sometimes
sit around and talk with the other prisoners. The days
pass swiftly that way and are gone before I know it. Be
sides these interesting things, we hear everything that goes
on in the courthouse. The trusties come in the morning
and sweep the walk around the cage and in an undertone
they tell everything that is of interest to any one, and
so we know all that goes on. We are also allowed to read
the daily papers, both morning and evening. In our cage,
Mike, the Irishman, reads them aloud so that we can get

SERVING MY TERM 179
through with them quickly, and thus we keep track of what
is going on outside in the big world.
Bill, the old timer with the blue eyes and the long, red
mustaches, is being tried for murder. He goes out to see
his lawyer every day, and when doing so, he gives his letters
to him to mail. I am going to send some of my letters out
by that route. Bill told me his story the other day and
here it is. He was mining with his pardner up on Christmas
Creek near Porcupine. They worked and worked without
any success and Charlie, his partner, was the kind of man
who was very pleasant to work with when things went well,
but who became a sullen brute when things went wrong.
He became worse and worse as fall approached and Bill
said he was constantly expecting him to go crazy, the way
he carried on.
One morning Bill decided to go' into Porcupine for the
mail when Charlie announced that he was going to town.
"I am going, too," Bill said.
Charlie swore. "I am going and that's enough; you
stay here."
"I am going for the mail," Bill said. "You can do as
you please, but I am going."
"What's the use of the two of us going? We'll never
get to bed rock by running to town this way."
"I am going, anyway," Bill said doggedly; and then all
of a sudden the other fellow sprang up and stood shaking
his fist in Bill's face, swearing at him and abusing him
and threatening to beat him up.
Bill grabbed a hammer that was lying on the window sill
and then the other fellow swore that he would kill Bill
"deader than hell," and rushed to the gun rack.
Bill jumped up and hit him on the head with the hammer,
then leaped past him and, grabbing his rifle, turned around,
just as Charlie was reaching for his gun. Bill blazed away
from the hip and shot the other fellow through the head.
Then he finished dressing, ran down to Porcupine and gave
himself up.

180 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
A coroner's just went up there later on and found that
it was a case of murder in self-defense and Bill was re
leased and went back to Chicago, having decided to quit
the north for good. He bought himself a little chicken
ranch, a horse and a buggy, and was getting along fine, when
one day a bunch of men came out in a big auto. They
surrounded the house and took Bill prisoner, giving him
barely time to turn all of his chickens loose and open
the door to his barn so his horse could get out, before they
took him away to the jail in Chicago. In Chicago they
kept him for a month and then he was shipped to Alaska
to be tried on the charge of murdering his partner on
Christmas Creek.
The doctor who had examined the dead man had been
satisfied at the time with the verdict of the coroner's jury,
but later he began to wonder if the blow of the hammer
' hadn't been sufficient to knock the man out, thus making
the shooting a cold-blooded act of murder. He had gone up
to Christmas Creek, dug up Charlie's body and found that
the skull had been broken by the hammer blow. Then he
had sworn out a warrant for Bill's arrest.
Bill has a letter from Charlie's wife in which she thanks
him for delivering her from fifteen years of slavery, and
by word of every one who knew him, it was plain to see
that Charlie was just naturally no good. This doctor, how
ever, seems to be determined to' see Bill hanged, and SO' far
has been able to put up a strong case against him. The
old timer is not worried, however. He knows he is not
guilty of murder and he is sure of being set free, at least
he says so, but I must admit that he looks pretty agitated,
I guess any man would be agitated when he was being
tried for his life, except, perhaps, Ito.
Ito is just the same as when I came, quiet, studious and
serene. A lady who lives in Juneau brought him a Chris
tian Bible written in Japanese and he is very busy reading
it. He took an English Bible that we have here in the cage

SERVING MY TERM 181
for the prisoners to read and showed me the Proverbs and
said they were very good.
Every Sunday morning some men and women of some
sort of a religious sect come here and, sitting out in the
corridor around the cage, they sing to us and pray for us.
They are very kind people, I think, to bother about us fel
lows in here, and when I asked the leader if I might have
one of their song books to sing from during the week, she
was very glad to let me have it and asked if there were not
something else that I would like to have. I said that I
would like to be free again and she said that if I asked Him,
I would not only be free to come and go, but that I would
be free from the sin that brought me here. She said that
she would pray for me and I have no doubt that she does.
I am writing down my experiences in several stories, be
ginning with my boyhood when I first went to sea at the
age of twelve. It is amazing how many things I have lived,
through when I come to write about them. I start to put
down a few words about some little incident, and immed
iately it unfolds itself and I write and write as I remember
more and more of it. It seems that I have experienced
several books full of adventures; and who can tell, some
day I may write about them and become an author of sailor
stories. Some of the other prisoners are following my example,
and maybe before long we can make a school room of this
cage. Harry, the ex-soldier, is writing a book of his exper
iences and Richard, who is with us, is studying English.
John, too, is doing school work when he is quiet and not
cutting up, and Fred is practicing penmanship. The jailer
is very well satisfied with us, and when visitors and sight
seers come and walk about the cage looking at us, he tells
them that we are the best prisoners he has ever had, which
is very nice of him and encourages us to further efforts.
Mike, who is an Atheist, and I argue a lot as to whether
there is a God or not. He was educated to be a priest but
whiskey got the best of him and he was expelled from the

1 82 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
college he was in. He knows the Bible from first to last
and maintains absolutely that there is no God and proves
it by picking the Bible to pieces. I said the other day that
God was light, truth and wisdom and that the more of those
things we have in us, the more of God we can understand,
and he quoted Ingersoll for half an hour to prove that I was
wrong, and I came back at him by showing him that while
Ingersoll said that there could be no God, yet he showed
great godliness in his own spirit by his love for all mankind
and the ideals he championed. Thus, we argue and I believe
we both benefit by it.
Ito believes there is a God but worships him through
Buddha and he is so sure of his belief that I feel he is just
as right as the lady who comes and prays for us to her God.
It seems to me it must be easy for her to be kind and to
love her fellowmen and do good for them, but for Ito, who
is sentenced to be hanged, to be so kind and eager to do
good, it surely must take great faith !

Juneau, Alaska.
Feb. 10, 1915.
I have received a box. A box from her ! Words fail to
express the gratitude I feel. Paper, stamps, books, candy — •
that divinity fudge, shades of all confectioners, but it was
good! I divided it with the rest of the prisoners and the
verdict was unanimous. I don't know how I shall ever be
able to thank her. Words fail me. I'll just have to be like
a Swede and say "Oy, oy, oy!"
Old Bill has been set free. He was found not guilty by
the jury. The prosecutor tried his best to have him con
victed but he didn't make it. The trial took several days,
and when his attorney had completed his defense, the old
man asked permission to speak a few words to the jury
himself. "I am an old man," he said, "and have passed the three
score mark. I am not a fool and I'm in my right mind and
I say that if I am guilty of coldbloodedly murdering my

SERVING MY TERM 183
partner, I ought to hang for it; if I am not guilty of murder,
I want to go free, so don't you bring in a verdict of murder
in the second or third degree or something like that. I want
to either be hanged or set free and it is up to you. You
hang me or set me free !"
It seemed that there was somebody on that jury who
wanted to hang the old man pretty badly, for they stayed out
all night and until ten o'clock the next morning, but they set
him free.
The two Japanese, Yamashita and Yamaguchi, were
tried, too. The first was set free and the other got fifteen
years. Yamaguchi was stoic and uncomplaining but the
other radiated joy and was all smiles as they led him out.
He came back the next day with bags of fruit and nuts and
candy and gave them to us who were left behind in the
cage.

Juneau, Alaska.
March 1, 1915.
Time is passing and I have only eight months and twenty-
eight days to spend here. I have some good news to put
down. First, I have been elected judge of the Kangaroo
Court. Harry and Carl are both trusties now, for they
have only a few days to do. I think they are to be released
on the fourth of this month. Mike was elected sheriff and I
was elected judge and we have promised to carry out the
Kangaroo laws to the letter. The second news is that I am
going to make an application for a parole. Three of us,
Mike, John and I are trying to get released on parole. I
have written to several of my friends to send in recommen
dations for me and I think that I will make a go of it. The
jailer says he would like to see me get out and I have great
hopes. I am interrupted considerably in my studies these days,
because we have a lot of new prisoners and the cage is full
to overflowing. There is hardly room to walk around the
table on account of the extra bunks that have been brought

184 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
in. Among the new men are three soldiers who were trying
to get out of the army by committing a felony, thus getting
a dishonorable discharge as soon as convicted. They gave
whiskey to an Indian and then telephoned to the marshal
to come and get them.
It has been quite a common thing for soldiers to go out
of the army by the Juneau route, as they call it. Usually
they get three months and then their yellow discharge is
sent to them. Well, the three lads were arrested, brought
to Juneau and put here in the cage and they were as happy
as meadow larks. They told the jailer and every one else
they saw just why they had done it and they expected every
one to sympathize with them. Their spokesman, Jack, said
to me that he would tell the judge why they had done it
and ask him to give them at least six months so they would
be sure to be kicked out of the army. I told Jack that I
would go slow with the judge, for he might not see the
thing from their point of view and might give them a much
longer sentence than they would like. I tried to make him
see that they had deliberately committed a felony in order
to balk established laws and rules and that wouldn't appeal
to the judge, but Jack could only see it one way, and to
make matters worse, he wrote a letter to the judge and told
him all about it and used some strong language about the
commanding officer at Fort Seward. It happens that this
officer is a close personal friend of the judge and the two of
them exchanged letters with the result that when the three
soldier boys were tried and joyously plead guilty, expecting
the judge to come down and shake hands with them and say
that he would see that they got their discharges as soon as
possible, the judge solemnly explained to them that they had
committed a very serious offense, besides disgracing the uni
form they wore, that he would give each of them fifteen
months in jail and that the commanding officer had re
quested that they should return to the post when the term
was over. There was a bunch of mad soldiers in the jail

SERVING MY TERM 185
that night. Here they would have to spend fifteen months
in prison and then go back to the army.

Juneau, Alaska.
April 29, 1915.
Two months more have slipped by and I have only seven
months more to do. John, Mike and I have put in for our
paroles and they are on the way to' the board of paroles in
Washington, D. C. to be approved of. We were taken up
into the marshal's office and asked a lot of questions and
then the vote was taken by the local board. I don't know
what the result of the vote was, but the jailer, who is bne of
the board here, said while I was up there, that I was one
of the best prisoners he had ever had under his charge and
that he thought I ought to get a parole if any one did. Yet, I
had the feeling that I wouldn't make it. The chief deputy
asked me a lot of questions about my jail breaking and I
felt that he was very antagonistic toward me. He is one of
the board, too, and I am almost certain that he voted against
me. Anyway, it won't matter much. It will be at least three
months before we hear from the paroles again.

Juneau, Alaska.
May 22, 1915.
The winter has gone and the spring has come. We have
had several evenings when the rays of the setting sun man
aged to pierce through the layers of screens and windows to
our cage here in the cellar. It was very wonderful. When
one sits up on the partition to the bathroom, one can look
out through the bars and screens to the sun-bathed world
beyond. True, there is only a hazy blur of the mountains
and the channel, but it is the outside just the same and very,
very beautiful. Through the long, dark, rainy days of the
winter, when the only evidence of the outer world was the
constant splashing of rain water running off the roof of the
courthouse to the pavement, I had almost forgotten that
there was such a world as that I have felt and seen the last

186 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
few days. In the morning early, before the din of the town
below begins, I can hear the birds sing in the nearby gar
dens. It is very faint, but it is bird song, nevertheless, and
when all the windows and doors are open once in a while,
there comes a waft of fragrant spring air filled with the
freshness and flavor of growing things.
j Some of the prisoners are allowed to go out about the
courthouse and clean -up, make gardens, and break rock off
a cliff that stands behind the cookhouse. I am not allowed
to get out of the cage, for they are still afraid of me and I
must go up in the corner when they open the door. Of
course they know I am not going to run away with only six
months to do, but, nevertheless, they take no chances. Oh,
but I would like to be out there in the warm sunshine where
the green grass is coming out of the earth ! I see the other
men come in in the evening and I sniff greedily at the fresh
ness they bring with them from the outdoors. It seems that
I would give my chance to go to heaven for just one little bit
of outdoors, but it is not for me. I must wait. Next year
the sun will shine again just as sweetly as it shines to-day,
and the birds will sing to me, and it will be very, very won
derful if I can only wait.
Even Ito has been outside, though they kept a guard hand
cuffed to him all the time. His hanging has been postponed
till some time in December and he is very happy. He trusts
in his God to save him. He is innocent of the thing they
have sentenced him for, he says, and God will not let him
be hanged as long as he keeps his faith. I believe that he
is right about it, though I don't know just why, for I
haven't a thing to base my convictions on. I would ask him
to tell me his story but, somehow, I feel that it would be
indiscreet and I am afraid I shall never know it.
John has got religion. He has joined the mission folk
that come here and sing on Sundays and he is to be made a
trusty very soon on the strength of it. I have a suspicion,
however, that John's religion is not very deep rooted. He
is a pretty shrewd character ; since he wanted to be a trusty,

SERVING MY TERM 187
he took the shortest route. He testifies every Sunday as to
how he got salvation, but there is an amused twinkle in his
eyes when he weeps for us poor sinners in here, steeped in
sin and ungodliness and I am constantly afraid that he will
burst out laughing in the middle of a prayer for us. How
ever, I may be mistaken, maybe it's the real thing after all.

Juneau, Alaska.
June 25, 1915.
I have changed my residence. No, not a parole, but I've
been moved to the large cage and that is a step upward in
society. Before I was a dangerous prisoner, now I am a
short-timer but not yet quite safe. I am not yet allowed
outside but in this cage there are many windows only a few
feet from the bars and plenty of light and air come through
them. The men here are a motley crowd. It would take too
long to describe them all and what they are in for, so I
won't attempt it.
Ito told me his story before I left the other cage. I
would like to write it just as he told it, dialect, quaint little
phrases and all, but I am afraid I cannot do it justice and
I'll have to tell it in my own words.
He was foreman at the Dundas Bay cannery. Under the
Chinese contract system the contractor agrees to supply so
many men for a given sum. Then the foreman has to be
very strict as it is his vital business to keep the men at work
and if he allows one of the men to quit the camp, run away
or die, the foreman loses fifty dollars of his pay. These can
nery hands are the roughest and most ignorant of Chinese
and Japanese coolies, and the foremen have to use stringent
measures to keep the men from breaking their contracts.
It has been charged that Ito kept the doors to the bunk-
house closed at night at all times, but Ito said that he had
only kept it locked when some one was suspected of wanting
to run away. "I had to, then, to protection myself," he said
in his quaint way.
This man, Dunn, who was killed, had signed a contract

188 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
with the big boss contractor in Seattle and had drawn about
forty dollars in advance. Being foreman of the crew Dunn
belonged to, Ito had to take the note of debt from the big
boss. Later, Dunn bought goods in the cannery store and
Ito also had to stand good for that debt. Then, when Dunn
found that the work in the cannery was not to his liking, he
threatened to run away. Had he done this, Ito would have
been out about a hundred dollars. This, of course, Ito could
not afford, and when Dunn threatened to leave the cannery,
he took the measures to prevent his going that are commonly
taken by the foremen in the Alaskan canneries that work
under the Chinese contract system. He had Dunn watched
during the day and had the door to the bunk house locked
during the night and this he intended to do until Dunn had
at least earned the money he owed. Dunn spoke freely
about trying to get away, and said that he didn't give a
damn about any Chinese contract.
About a week before the trouble, Dunn stayed in his bunk
one day and told Ito that he had quit his job. The foreman
told him that if he was sick and could not work ; if he had
trouble at home; if his father or mother was sick or dead,
he could give him leave and let him go any time. "I tired
all time trouble," Ito said. But if he was just anxious to
quit, the Chinese contract made it impossible for him to
let him go. Then Dunn said that if he would only give
him some whiskey, he would go back to work, but Ito had
no whiskey to give him and Dunn, after threatening violence
and protesting that he was an American citizen, free to come
and go as he pleased, had finally gone back to work.
The night the trouble occurred, many fishermen were
coming and going to and from the cannery. Dunn stayed
on the beach most of the day, helping the fishermen to get
gasoline, and Ito saw him enter the bunkhouse about twelve
o'clock that night. He thought it would be a good idea to
lock the bunk house door for the night and he sent Fushima,
a Japanese boy, over to attend to it. Then Nakayama, who
slept in Ito's house, came home and the foreman told him

SERVING MY TERM 189
to go to the bunk house and watch. When Nakayama got
over there, Ito said he heard a big noise and much talking
and angry tones. He grabbed a cane he had, a sword cane
that a friend of his had given him a long time ago, and
ran to the bunk house to quell the fight. When he came
to the scene, Dunn was alone on the platform of the bunk-
house, having knocked both Fushima and Nakayama off to
the beach, six feet below.
"What's the matter with you?" Ito demanded as he
climbed the steps to the platform where Dunn stood, swear
ing at him, urging him to come on and calling him all sorts
of names. Ito raised his cane to strike the obstinate fellow,
but Dunn grabbed the cane with one hand and struck the
foreman in the eye with the other and sent him tumbling
backward from the platform. The pull on the cane had
unsheathed the sword and when Dunn, also, lost his balance
and fell off the platform on top of Ito, he struck on the
point of the weapon and was pierced from the right shoulder
to the left side, right through the heart.
Ito said that then his mind had become dead from the fall
and that he didn't know that the lad had been killed. He
had pulled the sword toward him, thinking that it felt very
heavy and wondering if he had cut the boy. He was still
very excited and had rushed up the ladder, his sword in one
hand and his revolver in the other, to lock up some Mexi
cans who were throwing tin cans and bottles at him. His
pistol went off without his knowing it and hit a Japanese
boy, "a good boy," Ito said, in the breast but did not kill
him. The foreman did not know this until the next day.
He ran to the superintendent's house, met the superinten
dent when half way there and, turning the sword over to
him, told him what had happened as well as he knew.
Ito went back to his own house and it was not until morn
ing that he learned the man had been killed. Then he im
mediately went to the superintendent and asked leave to go
to Juneau with an interpreter to explain to the authorities
about it. The superintendent said that there were no boats

igo ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
going and that Ito had better wait until the marshal came.
It was three days before he came and took Ito to jail
with him. Had Ito wanted to, he could have escaped a
dozen times, but he did not feel that he had committed any
wrong but had merely carried out his duty according tO' the
contract he was under. He had no urge to escape.
During the trial the Mexicans testified that they had seen
Nakayama and Fushima hold Dunn while Ito stuck the
sword into him. Race hatred had run high at the time. A
Japanese had killed a white boy and a white jury found
him guilty of murder in the first degree and he had been
sentenced to be hanged. Fushima had been tried and had
been given twenty years but when they got to trying Naka
yama, there had been so much contradiction going on among
the imaginative Mexican witnesses that the prosecution had
been hopelessly tangled up and had dropped the case
against Nakayama. During Ito's trial, however, the Mexi
cans had been unanimous enough and the Court of Appeals
had not been able to find a flaw in the trial, so Ito had been
denied a new trial. The United States Supreme Court also
made the same ruling and there is now no hope left for Ito,
except a pardon from the President.

Juneau, Alaska.
July 29, 191 5.
I have only four more months to stay here. Somehow,
I cannot imagine how it will feel to be a free man again,
and sometimes I have a panicky dread that when the time
comes, they won't let me go. They let me out to work about
a week ago. I had to give my word of honor that I
wouldn't try to escape. Of course, I gave them that and
they let me out through the long corridor, the one down
which I had once escaped. I had * slight thrill when I
thought about it, but I saw my own reflection in a window
and forgot everything else. I was as skinny as a scarecrow,
gaunt and bony, and my clothes hung on me. Of course I
knew that I had become thin but I didn't realize to what an

SERVING MY TERM 191
extent until I had seen myself in the windowpane. In the
store room I found that I weighed only one hundred and
fifty pounds, whereas I used to weigh two hundred. If I
stayed another year in a cage, I'd be nothing but a shadow.
When I stepped out of the building into the sunshine,
I became so dizzy that I reeled and had to hold onto the
side of the cook house. It was quite a while before I was
strong enough to go about unconcernedly. I was to break
rocks and take them to the edge of the cliff where two of
the other prisoners were building a wall, but I did not do
very much the first two days. I used to think while I was
in the cage, that I was almost as strong as I ever had been,
but I am not. If they hadn't let me out before my time
was up, I wouldn't have been worth a cent to any employer
but now, if I can work outside almost every day, I shall be
pretty skookum when I am released.
Mike has received his parole and is working in one of the
mines near here. The jailer said that his was the only
parole that had come back so far but that they expected
John's and mine any time now. One of the trusties who
cleans out the marshal's office, told me that he had seen
all three of them and that John's and mine had been refused.
I have some other good news to relate. I have found a
means of making money here. They let me have a knife
during the daytime and I make small models of ships and
put them into bottles. I sell them for one dollar up to five
dollars apiece, according to what I think I can get. They
are worth five dollars, all right, for it takes two days of
hard work to make one, but I rarely get more than a dollar
or two for one. I have already made thirteen dollars that
way and now I am making a big boat for the cook. It will
be two feet long and have everything on it that a brigan-
tine has, from anchor winch to sails and running gear. The
cook will pay me ten dollars for it and I figure it will take
my spare time for two weeks to finish it. Of course, I
am neglecting my writing to do this but I feel that it is more

192 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
important that I should have some money, so that I shall
not be penniless when I get out.
The missionary from Klukwan was here to see me the
other day. He was very kind and insisted that I accept
some money from him as a loan till I get on my feet again
financially. If every prisoner had a friend like that mission
ary, there would be mighty few of them going back to jail
again.

Juneau, Alaska.
Aug. 21, 1915.
I have been elected judge of the Kangaroo Court here in
the big cage. In an election where six men were candidates,
I was chosen judge by a good plurality. We hold court al
most every day, so it keeps me pretty busy. I get two dol
lars a week out of the Kangaroo funds for doing this, so
you see, my little fortune is constantly growing. I now have
to my credit forty-three dollars and money is continually
coming in. The cook liked the ship I made for her so well
that she gave me fifteen dollars for it instead of ten. She
said that I needed it more than she did and insisted that it
was worth fifteen dollars.
I haven't written anything on my stories for the last
month or so, and I'm afraid I'll not be able to write any
more while I am in jail. Since Mike has been out, I have
been reading the paper aloud to the other prisoners. I am
not as good a reader as Mike but I am improving all the
time and it helps my English very much.
We had a fellow here by the name of O'Reilly. He was
a short, stocky fellow with glaring brown eyes set wide
apart under a protruding forehead. His bulky looking head
was covered with a curly growth of brown hair. It made
one think of a buffalo and he had a way of leaning forward
and wagging his head from side to side as he walked up and
down the cage, that heightened the impression. There were
several charges against him and everybody was sure that

SERVING MY TERM 193
he would be sent to the penitentiary for a couple of years
anyway. One day a fellow they call Red said to him, "By George,
O'Reilly, I'll be jiggered if you don't look crazy. They
ought to send you to Morningside instead of to the pen."
Red's words evidently gave O'Reilly a new idea, for we
soon noticed that he began talking and acting mighty queer.
One night after everybody had gone to bed, he jumped out
and, pulling his bedding onto the floor, began sweeping it
frantically with a broom. He turned over one of the
benches in doing it and the guards came rushing in to see
what was the matter. O'Reilly kept on sweeping, yelling
to them that his bed was full of bugs and that they were
eating his legs off. After a while when he had satisfied
himself that there were no more bugs on his mattress and
blankets, he made up his bed and went to sleep. Naturally,
the rest of the prisoners shunned him the next day, for they
had no doubt now about his being insane. I had an audience
with the jailer and told him of the various eccentricities I
had noticed and the jailer told me to keep a watch on him
and report everything.
The next morning O'Reilly got up long before any one
else and, taking all the shoes, placed them in a long column
on the floor, four abreast with some on the sides and in
front. I was watching him from my bunk and when he got
them all in ranks like an army, he let out an unearthly yell
that made all the men fairly jump from their bunks, and
he began to curse and swear at the shoes on the floor. He
gave the command to advance and when they didn't move,
he called them cowardly curs and cursed and swore and
damned them till he frothed at the mouth from rage. In a
short time he collapsed on the concrete floor completely
worn out. All the while the other prisoners were looking
on, dreading his next move. When he fell down, I jumped
out of bed and called a couple of them and we packed
O'Reilly to his bunk and put him in.
The jailer told me that morning to get ready to go to

194 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
court and to get O'Reilly ready, too, as he was to be tried
for insanity. When at eleven the turnkey opened the door,
O'Reilly and I went upstairs to the commissioner's court. I
was sworn in as a witness against him and on the stand told
what I had seen. Then two doctors examined and cross
examined him and O'Reilly told quite rationally and sanely
that he had been a commission merchant in Chicago and had
had a good business there. Then he turned to the jailer
who was sitting next to him and glared at him, his eyes
bulging from their sockets.
"That's the fellow who's to blame for my failure," he
yelled, and the jailer got up and moved away four seats.
"He was the food commissioner there. I know him, his
name is Murphy. He was one of Hinky Dink's gang.
That's how he got his job. But he didn't last long. He's a
crook. I know him. He threw four carloads of oranges in
the river on me. But he didn't last long. He was too
crooked even for Hinky Dink."
After this, O'Reilly collapsed in his chair, ^and after the
doctors had made a few futile attempts to get him to answer
them again, the commissioner sent the jury out and O'Reilly
and I were sent back down to the cage. They took him
away the next day and yesterday we learned that he had
escaped from the insane asylum the second day he was
there.

Juneau, Alaska.
Sept. 28, 1915.
Time is beginning to go more and more slowly. It seems
that I shall never get out of here. Each day drags along
when they don't let me go out to work and there is an eter
nity between rising time and going to bed time. Luckily, I
can sleep well. Some of the men can't sleep and they lie
and plan all sorts of things nights. There is one man, for
example, who told me that he had found a way to make
lots of money. His plan was illegitimate, of course, and
when I asked him why he wouldn't try something he

SERVING MY TERM 195
wouldn't get in jail for, he spilled a quaint bit of psychology.
He said that he had to get even with them for this lost time
and opportunity.
"I'm not lying awake nights in this hole for nothing," he
said, and looked menacingly around the cage.
There is another queer case here. He is a Roumanian
and his name is Oniga. He was pinched for giving whiskey
to Indians, and tried, but for some reason the judge let him.
off with a lecture and gave him five dollars tO' start life on
anew. Oniga is an old man not endowed with too much
intelligence. As soon as he got out, he invested his five
dollars in twenty-five cent bottles of whiskey, went down
into Indian town and began selling them right and left. Of
course he was arrested and put in here with us again. He
is sure he will get at least twenty dollars this time and I
cannot tell him anything else. It is much easier than to
work, he says, and he has it all figured out that he can
double his money next time before they can catch him at it
and he is sorry that he didn't know about this when he first
came to this strange country two years ago. He would
have been rich now but he hopes to soon have enough to go
back to Roumania on the strength of this new business.
I read an article in a magazine the other day about the
penitentiaries in Switzerland. The prisons there are small
republics in themselves. Every prisoner is allowed to
choose a kind of labor to do while there and he needs to
spend only a few hours a day working if he wishes to study.
They employ some of the best teachers in the land and sup
port themselves and their school wholly by their own labor.
Of course there are state officials there to overlook things
but the prisoners are practically self governing. As I under
stand it, the theory followed is that the cure for a lack of
social conscience is cooperative living and ideal conditions.
When a man is released from a Swiss penitentiary, he has
an education if he has cared to get it, and has been taught
to be a member of society.
As a consequence only three per cent go back for a second

196 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
term. In this country over seventy per cent return for a
second term and many for a third or a fourth, some of them
spending practically all their lives in prison. I started an
argument with some of the men on the subject and one of
them said that that was a hell of a place. Why, everybody
would go to jail if it was so pleasant and would never care
to get out. It seems to me that if all the ignorant men broke
in and got an education, it would be the best thing that could
happen to any nation.
I have been wondering if any one has staked the home
stead around Odin's Lake yet. My chief thought these days
is to make a home for myself, and if they let me out in
November, I intend to work here in the mines this winter,
then to go up to Haines in the Spring, and if Odin's Lake
is still free, I shall claim it for my own.

Juneau, Alaska.
Oct. 23, 1915.
The pendulum of my progress has swung back and I am
locked in the dark cell cage with the bad men, a dangerous
prisoner. It is very discouraging. The chief deputy quit
his job to work in a bank and a new man took his place.
This man is a crank on authority. He wanted to show his
power so he came down the first day and inspected the jail.
It happened that I was reading the paper when he came
down and he saw the prisoners there clustered about me.
For some reason which I cannot fathom, it displeased him
and he ordered us to hand out the paper and told the
guards not to let us have it any more. Naturally, this peeved
me — it was such a little thing to do — and I said that I had
been there a year and we had always had the paper before.
He answered me very curtly, telling me not to give him any
of my lip, that he was running this jail. I said no more and
walked up and down in the cage singing quietly to myself.
"Cut out that singing," he commanded.
"Certainly," I said and smiled at him.

SERVING MY TERM 197
I didn't like him but I had only forty days to do and he
was in a position to make me serve three months longer.
Naturally, the prisoners all were sore and the cage was a
hubbub all day, the men standing around in clusters talking
about it and expressing their opinion of the new chief
deputy. That evening when the other shift of guards was
on duty and the evening paper came, they handed it in as
usual and I began reading. Pretty soon the chief deputy
came down and bawled out both us and the guards, threat
ening to have me put in the dark cell and forbidding the
guards ever to let us have the paper again.
The next day I got orders to get my things together, as I
was to be removed to the cell cage again for stirring up
trouble among the prisoners. I am worried, too, for I am
very much afraid that they won't let me out when my time
is up. But I mustn't think about that, it is too dreadful.
I have only thirty-six days to do but that is a long time to
wait with nothing to do except worry. I am not allowed
to work on my ships in here and I am too worried to settle
down to writing on my story or reading.

CHAPTER XVII
A CAVE-DOWN IN THE MINE Juneau, Alaska.
Nov. 30, 1915.
I HAVEN'T written at all this last month. I was so mis
erable that I could only have written about my troubles
and that was not worth while. It was enough that I
should be miserable without putting it into black and white.
But the days dragged by and finally came my last day in jail.
That was a long day for me. I thought it would never
end. I lay awake most of the night thinking of the great
event that was to come to pass the next day. I was to be
free once again. Free, and with no fear of being caught.
I would have served my time and my trouble would be
wholly over.
The morning came and I packed my things in my war bag
and said good-by to my fellow prisoners who were to be
left behind there in the cage. The jailer came and the cage
opened and the heavy door banged behind me with the rattle
of bolts and locks for the last time. It sent a shiver through
me and I promised myself never to do anything again that
they could put me in a cage for. The jailer gave me my
money and then he and I and John, who was also being re
leased, went down to a store to get out twelve and a half
dollar's worth of clothes. John bought shirts and ties and
I bought a pair of eleven dollar working boots and five pairs
of socks. Then I said good-by to the jailer and walked
down the street, my war bag on my shoulder, a free man
looking for a place to room.
I thought I would feel very exalted and joyous when I
was free but I was only fairly happy, though I felt more at
198

A CAVE-DOWN IN THE MINE 199
home in my place there on the street among the other people
than I had ever felt in the cellar under the courthouse. I
thought I would feel like a cage man set free ; instead I felt
like a free man who had been in the cage and had come to
his own once again. I longed for the woods and the
mountains, so I put on my new boots, as soon as I had
established myself in a room, and hiked out of town on the
Salmon Creek road. There was a foot of snow on the
ground and it was cold but the sun shone and the fiord was
blue in contrast to the white shore and the deep green spruce
woods and I was very, very happy with it all. I walked
all day and did not come back to town until long after dark,
very tired and very hungry. I had a big meal in a restau
rant and went to bed, sleeping the sleep of the just.
This morning, after I had eaten my breakfast, I decided
to bring my diary up to date and it has taken me all the
forenoon. I am going up to the mines this afternoon to try
to get a job.

St. Anne's Hospital.
Juneau, Alaska.
Dec. 8, 191 5.
There was an epidemic of La Grippe here and, naturally,
being exposed to the raw winter weather after spending a
year, in a cellar, I caught it.
My friend, Mike, who got a parole, has worked himself
up into quite a high position in the Perseverance Mine. He
takes care of the hospital in the mine and has charge of the
hardware department on the side. When I came up, he
spoke to the foreman in my behalf and I got a job as a
mucker. I was given a brass tag and told to report to Jim
Dolan, the shift boss on 9 East.
I had no idea who Dolan was nor where 9 East was but
I followed the crowd that was going on the night shift, got
my dinner pail from the bucket man at the end of the great
dining hall like the rest of the men, and went along among

200 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
them in through the shops to a long tunnel that went into
the mountain.
I felt decidedly queer as I got further in. From the com
pressed air pipes along the sides there came a noise that
sounded like gnomes hammering away deep in the earth.
The pressure of the air around me began to make my ears
pulse and I expected my ear drums to burst long before I
reached the mine. This tunnel was at least a mile long and
led to a great hollow or rather a cave. This was called a
station and a shaft ran through from away up to away
down below it. Electric lights everywhere made it almost
as light as day, which lessened the uncanniness of it. An
elevator came gliding down the shaft and stopped. I was
told by a short, fat man to step back and wait till the last
cage. I didn't know what the last cage was but I supposed
he meant the elevator and I stepped back away from the
crowd that surged toward the elevator, scrambling to get in
every time it came, jamming it full like herring in a barrel
till the station tender could hardly pull the door shut. The
first ones went to the five hundred level, then came the six
hundred level men, and so on till all the nine hundred level
men had gone up and there were only five men left with me
in the station. The fat man motioned to the rest of us the
next time the cage came and we all stepped in and were
jerked up a short distance and then let out in a place very
similar to the one we had left. It was the station on 9.
The fat man, who was Jim Dolan, our boss, led us through
a long tunnel from which many ladders ran up through dark
holes in the sides. At one place the boss took two of the
men up a ladder and told the rest of us to wait below till he
came down. Here and there from far off in the rock came
rattling noises like woodpeckers boring in dry logs. Then
there came a dull pop from somewhere and the heavy air
in the tunnel vibrated and pulsed in my ears. They were
blasting somewhere in the mine. After a long time the
boss came back down the ladder and motioned for us to
follow him. He took us to another ladder up through a

A CAVE-DOWN IN THE MINE 201
narrow hole just big enough to climb through without touch
ing the rocky walls which were dripping wet. It ended in
a low tunnel where we had to bend our heads to walk. A
lot of dinner pails were standing around and the boss mo
tioned for us to put ours down, too. Then we crawled down
another ladder to a great cave below us. This was a stope
and a dozen or more machine drills were rattling away mak
ing a deafening roar. The fellow who was with me was
put to work helping a machine man, and I was put to work
shoveling rock away from the entrance to the cave through
which we had had to crawl on our hands and knees. Then
the boss left us and that was the last we saw of him that
night. I had a terrible headache and was sick from the
thick, gassy air that I breathed. I thought I could work it
off so I shoveled as hard as I could and sweated a lot but
my headache only became worse. Finally, one by one, the
machines stopped rattling and the men went past me and
climbed up the ladder. I followed and up in the low tunnel,
which they called the crosscut, they were all sitting eat
ing lustily. There were no electric lights there but each
man carried his own lamp or candle. They looked like
gnomes and dwarfs that were pictured in fairy tales I read
when I was a kid. An elderly, heavy-set miner came over
and sat down by me. He was an American and he was
glad to have some one to talk to, he said. He told me that
I had been working too hard, that I had done as much as
four men would do and there was no need for that. Every
body took it easy here, he explained, for one was liable to
get killed any time, SO' why kill one's self working?
I told him that I had a headache and had tried to work it
off and he laughed at me and said that all men had head
aches the first few days they worked in a mine. It was the
gas, he said, and promised me that I would soon get over
that. I took his advice and worked more slowly during the rest
of the shift. It was a good thing, for I was not used to
work at all and my hands and back became very sore. I

202 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
would, perhaps, have had to quit had I not slowed down.
I was in a sorry shape when the shift was over and I wearily
followed the other men to the station, got down with the
cage and walked out of the mine through the long tunnel.
I had no appetite but went directly to my room where I fell
into a stupor on my bed.
My room-mate, a Russian, woke me up and said it was
dinner time, but I was too sick to eat and went back to
sleep, not getting up till supper time. My head still ached
but I ate a bite, got my lunch bucket and followed the
night shift into the mine again. When the boss saw how
sick I was, he looked kindly at me and said in a rich Irish
brogue to take it easy and that I would get over that in a
couple of days.
I was very weak when I came out of the mine again that
morning. My appetite was gone and I had a pain in the
chest. I told Mike about it when I saw him and he said
I had the Grippe and that I had better let him send me to
the hospital. I didn't like the- idea, of giving up right away,
however, so I decided to try it another shift. I slept the
whole day, and after a slender supper, went into the mine
again. My head was swimming all that night, and on the
way out of the mine that morning, everything went black
and when I came to, I was here in the hospital in Juneau.
I feel better now and expect to go back to work in a couple
of days. The doctor says that I am in no condition to go to
work in a mine, but what can I do? It is winter time and
there is hardly anything else that I can get to- do, so it is up
to me to go back and see if I can't get used to it like the
rest of them.

Perseverance Mine,
Juneau, Alaska.
Jan. n, 1916.
One does not feel much like writing when he has just
come out of a dirty old hole in the ground ; he is full of dust
and gas and so sleepy he can hardly keep his eyes open. I

A CAVE-DOWN IN THE MINE 203
am afraid my diary will be sorely neglected while I work
here, but that cannot be helped. I usually go to sleep as
soon as I have washed the grime off under a shower bath in
the dry room and have eaten my breakfast, or supper. It
seems the gas makes me so sleepy that I cannot get time to
do anything else but sleep when I am away from work. But
I only get the headaches once in a while now when the gas
is especially heavy down there. How I hate that hole in
the ground ! Every time I go in there at the beginning of
the shift, I wonder if they will carry me out feet first like
some poor devils I have watched go by. There are men
hurt every day and one or more killed almost every week.
It is dreadful ! Just a week ago two men were killed right
beside me, and probably I should have been killed too, if I
had not been so scary of everything. We were working on
number two stope in 9 East. I was helping with a machine
run by an old Scotchman called Mac.
The boss had told me to stay out of any place that I
thought was not safe. "The company," he had said, "is not
making money by having men killed."
We were working in a very soft wall of rock that kept
breaking off in places, sending masses of loose muck grind
ing down into the chutes. My nerves were all on edge and
every time a rock broke off, I ran like a scared rabbit for the
hole that led up to the crosscut. Twice during the first part
of the shift, Mac stopped his machine and yelled for the oth
er men to stop theirs and listen, and each time there was a
cave-down above the middle of the roof. The roof of the
stope kept sloughing off in chunks. I had the feeling that
something terrible was about to happen and I dreaded en
tering that stope to help the old fellow. He didn't blame me
and did everything he could alone while I sat in the manway
near by, watching him, ready to run over and give him a
hand if he motioned for me, but more ready to rush up the
ladder at the first sign of danger. Two men were working
farther up in the stope than we were and they were loth
to stop when Mac yelled to them. Mac took a wrench and

204 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
went over to them and told them that if they didn't cut out
working when he told them to he would knock their blocks
off. They were very arrogant and asked Mac if he was the
boss and said that they would work when they pleased; if
Mac was so scared, why didn't he get out of the mine?
One of them had given me the ha-ha that night when I
rushed for the manway, startled by the muck rumbling down
the chutes when the ore was being drawn from below in
the tunnel. Mac said that he would go out before he would
stay and work with such fools and the two of us made for
the manway. We had just reached it when Mac yelled,
"Run ! for God's sake, run !" and we scrambled madly up the
ladder away from the smashing, grinding, cracking stope
that was caving in below us. Some powder exploded down
there and it blew out our lights, leaving me lying terror
stricken close to the wall of the crosscut, while Mac lit his
lamp and hurried down to the tunnel to telephone the boss
and bring help. Some more men came up from the stope.
One man they carried; a flying rock had torn off his arm.
Another one had a great gash in his forehead. He had fal
len in the dark. They were all white faced under the grime
and very scared. There were two men missing but no one
wanted to go back down there into that hell hole to look
for them.
The shift boss came rushing up with Mac and a dozen
men at his heels. They hurried past us and descended to
the stope. After a while we followed. The appearance of
the whole place had changed. Where before there was a
low hanging roof and a deep hole below to the chutes, there
was now a high curved roof like that of a church and the
chutes were full of muck. Where the machines of Mac
and the other men had stood, there was a great pile
and there were no signs of the two men who were missing.
The boss set us to work digging. Under eight feet of rocky
muck, we found them and their machine. It was too hor
rible to describe. We carried them out and took them to
the station and they were sent out of the mine for the last

A CAVE-DOWN IN THE MINE 205
time. The rest of us sat around and waited for the shift
to be over, for there was no more working for us that day.
It makes one feel very small and helpless to be down in a
mine and have something like that happen. Death hovers
about at every turn and one never knows when the whole
works will cave in and bury forever all men who work in
this mountain. I don't mind the idea of dying so much; it
is being crushed by those horrible rock slides down in the
dark mine where the rats scurry about and there is never
any sunshine. I wouldn't mind lying dead under some nice
grassy mound where the sun could shine softly in the eve
ning, but down there in that deep, black hole — oh, I couldn't
bear it ! I wouldn't go back down there again if I could find
anything else to do, but down in Juneau all work has stopped
for the winter and I cannot afford to lie around. I shall
have to stay here till March and then I will go to Haines and
see about my future home by Odin's Lake.
In a letter from her she asked me if I still thought of her
as I did when I left. Oh, how could she ask ! Does she not
know that I am ever longing to break my vow not to write
of love until I am again respected by my fellow men? Oh,
Marian, do not ask me now ! Let me make a man of my
self once more, first. If I never succeed in getting ahead
and building my home, then I shall never ask her to come.

Perseverance Mine,
Juneau, Alaska.
Feb. 20, 1916.
In a letter from her, she tells me that I have not been low
ered by my past experiences. But I know that every week
I have been in there, every moment of revenge, every hatred,
has left its mark on me and I have yet to prove that these
marks are for the good of me. If I can stay away from jail
for a year without having trouble with any one; if I can
keep climbing upward till I am on an equal footing with
other men when the year is up, then I shall write and ask

206 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
her to come to me, or I shall go to her. Most likely I shall
go to her, for her people have never seen me, and though
she tells me they read my diary, it is but a poor medium of
acquaintance. In this coming year I ought to be able to
stake my homestead and build a cabin large enough for
two. The men here know who I am and where I have just
come from and some of them shun me, while others, more
daring, try to get me to tell of my experiences, but I have
no desire to live them over again, so I have to disappoint
them every time. Once in a while a fellow comes uninvited
into my room, sits down on my bed, and talks confidentially
of his own experiences in various jails. This is to give me
confidence in him. Then, after a while, he hints that he
has worked out a fine plan to get some quick cash, a big
haul, or some easy money. Some of these men are spies for
the marshal's office, who want to know what I think of
such things; others are men who would like to have my
help in making a big haul so they could place the blame on
me and skip ; others, again, are real honest thieves who are
looking for a partner for some exploit. Some of these men
I would like to throw out of my room on their heads but I
mustn't do that, for part of my program is not to make any
enemies. So I tell them that I am through with such things,
that I have a job and that honest toil pays best in the long
run. I am emphatic about this and they soon learn that it
does no good to fool with me.
I am a full fledged miner now and have my own machine,
a helper and everything. Mac quit after those two men
were killed and I was put to work helping on two water ley-
ner machines run by an Austrian and a Montenegrin. They
were so jealous of each other that when I helped one of
them to do something, the other became violently angry and
vice versa. I told the boss about it and he said to help each
of them put up their machines, bring sharp steel to them,
take away the dull steel and do nothing else.

A CAVE-DOWN IN THE MINE 207
"The less you do for those fellows, the better they will
like you," he said.
And he was right. I told them one morning when I had
them both together what the boss had said to me and that
if they didn't like that, they could go to him and tell their
troubles. They were very much surprised and angry with
the boss and were going to tell him all sorts of things, but
when he came, they were all smiles and didn't say one thing
about it. I had an easy time after that and it is a fact that
the two machine men liked me much better, too. When I
occasionally did help them or run their machines for them
for a few minutes, they appreciated it and showed their ap
preciation by bringing a piece of steel or two for me when
they came back. I learned a great deal about machine min
ing and it was not long before I knew how to set up a
machine and how to get the holes in to the best advantage ;
also how to take a water leyner apart and put it together
when something went wrong inside.
One day we were told to go up and go to work in num
ber one stope, north on 5. We put our machines, hose and
everything on a car and took it along with us. The stope
up there on the highest level was a great monster hole in
the mountain. It looked like a church with a high concave
ceiling. It was eight hundred feet long and I don't know
how deep. We set up our machines near the entrance to
one of the crosscuts and started drilling into a pillar that
held a great mass of rock from caving down. When we
had worked about an hour, we saw a lot of lights rushing
along the footwall and disappearing into one of the cross
cuts. A lot of small cave-downs could be heard in the
other end of the stope. I dropped the drills I was packing
and ran for our crosscut as fast as I could. My partners
saw me run and, leaving their machines, followed. We lay
down close to the crosscut wall and waited.
Before a large cave-down a lot of smaller bodies of rock
generally come down. They call that the key rocks falling
out and whenever that happens, it is everybody's business

208 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
to get out of the stope as soon as possible. A great cave-
down generally gives warning and if a man pays attention
he can save himself. So it was in this case. Key rocks fell
out the whole length of the stope, crashing into the chutes
below with a constant grinding roar. Then, suddenly, there
was a tremendous noise like a thousand cannons going off.
A blast of air surged through the crosscut, blowing all the
lights out and sending empty powder boxes and dinner pails
flying through. One hit me on the head as I lay there hug
ging the wall in the dark and I thought that this was the end.
of the world. The whole mountain shook and quivered and
rocks were falling off the roof of the crosscut and rattling
down the manways. Then it was over and men began to
light their lamps and candles and crawled up to the en
trance of the stope to see what had happened. The stope
had caved in the whole length and there was a fifty foot
hole in the roof where the daylight shone through, giving
the great cave a ghostly appearance. The whole stope that
had been empty before was filled up to the level of the cross
cuts and much higher in places. Our machines had been
buried beneath a hundred feet of rocks. No> one was killed
and only a few had been slightly hurt by rocks falling off
the roofs and walls of crosscuts and tunnels. It was esti
mated that five hundred thousand tons had caved into the
chutes and I'll say that they are right when they call it cheap
mining. There was no hope of our getting our machines back
again before the ore was drawn from the chutes, so we were
sent down to work in a new stope where there was not much
danger. Here we worked for a week or so, then a machine
man who was working near us quit, and I took his machine.
It is not difficult to do at all, merely a matter of setting up
right and keeping .the drills straight in their holes. I get
three dollars and a half for this, which is fifty cents more
than I was getting before, so I have made one more step up
ward in life.

A CAVE-DOWN IN THE MINE 209
Juneau, Alaska.
March 15, 1916.
I am through with the mine and I hope I shall never have
to work underground again. The outside is plenty good
enough for me and I am going to stay there if I can.
To-morrow I leave for Haines. I wonder how all of my
old friends will receive the black sheep returned to the fold.
Some will, no doubt, snub me, while others will be as
friendly as of old. The Indians will probably come sneak
ing around trying to get me to get booze for them, for the
man who gets into jail usually has no' scruples about ped
dling a little booze on the quiet. It will be very interesting
to be there once again. Of course all my soldier friends are
gone, as the regiment has been taken away and another has
taken its place. But I will not have much time to be hang
ing around with friends, anyway, as I shall be very busy
staking my claim and building my home.
I had heard that a man convicted of a felony could not
take up a homestead, so this morning I interviewed the
judge who sentenced me and he said it was all a mistake;
that I had just as much right as any one to a homestead, and
to go ahead and get settled as soon as I could. He even
offered me help if I needed it. So you see, even a judge has
a kind heart.

CHAPTER XVIII
MY CLAIM ON VIKING'S COVE
By Odin's Lake.
March 30, 1916.
I AM sitting under a big spruce tree and in front of me
a lusty camp-fire is burning, while beyond it lies Odin's
Lake. It is covered with several feet of ice and snow
but it is very beautiful just the same — a white glade amidst
the woods.
I came to Haines a couple of weeks ago and met all my
old friends once again. There were Johnny and Tim, and
AI and Joe and George. They all gave me a hearty wel
come and asked what they could do for me. Of course I
needed no help but it made me feel pretty good, just the
same. Jack asked me out to his ranch and I stayed there
about ten days helping him with this and that about fhe
place. Then one day I decided to go down and see about
my homestead. Three Swedes had taken up the land down
there the summer before but they were city lads and had
soon wearied of the silent places and had hurried back down
to Portland, leaving several unpaid bills behind them with
the store keepers. I had written to the land office asking
if there were any notices of claims on this land and they had
replied that there were not.
I started out with a small blanket roll and a little grub,
a frying pan, a stew pot and a new rifle that I had
bought in Juneau. It was a fine, cool day. There had been
a frost in the night and the snow had frozen on top so I
could walk on it anywhere in the woods without breaking
through. The trail led through the army post, across the
peninsula to the Chilkat ; then along the beach for five miles
210

MY CLAIM ON VIKING'S COVE 211
to Smokehouse Bay where O'Brien, an old Irishman, has his
homestead. I stayed with him for a while, had a cup of
hot coffee, and then started out again through the fine woods
across the peninsula to Flat Bay. Here the tide had gone
out, leaving the long bay high and dry. Indeed, Flat Bay
is an appropriate name for it, for it is about a mile long
and a quarter of a mile wide, and when the tide is low, one
can walk across it, while when the tide is high, it is like
a big lake, reaching clear up to the woody edges. There
were clumps of seaweed, shells of mussels and clams, and
many other interesting things that had drifted from some
place and anchored there in the bay. I felt as if I were
walking on the bottom of some extinct ocean.
There is a ranch on this side of the peninsula, too. It
is the one I came to when I had broken out of jail the last
time. There was no one there so I kept on along the beach
a mile further where the trail leads up to Odin's Lake.
No one would know there was a trail there, the ground
was covered so deeply with snow. There is a half built
log cabin near the beach that had been started by the Swedes
and I camped by it the first night. I slept under an over
hanging spruce tree with a great big fire built of driftwood
to keep me warm. There was a mild south breeze and little
waves lapped on the pebbly cove like a low, sweet lullaby.
It was very wonderful to be in the outdoors again and to
be all alone in the peaceful woods. I lay long in the night
and gazed into the fire and up into the sky where the stars
were tumbling out one by one and in clusters, blinking and
twinkling down through infinity to me, filling me with cheer
and hope. It seemed that they were laughing and singing
to me, telling me that my troubles were over and that now I
could take my reward, the earth, the woods, the fiord, the
mountains, the beauty and the peace. Then the wavelets
lulled me to sleep and I woke up in the morning joyous and
happy to be there ; not in a mine or a jail.
I cooked some hot cakes, ate and went out to stake my
claim. On a rocky point that is the end of my cove and

212 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
which I named Viking's Point, I chopped down my first
spruce tree and made my first stake. From there I walked
up through the woods in a southerly direction, blazing a
tree now and then and counting my steps. I would take my
full allowance, three hundred and twenty acres. Seventeen
hundred and sixty yards I stepped, and then made another
stake and planted it, blazing a lot of trees all around to
make the place conspicuous. It was not accurate measur
ing, but the law reads to measure to one's best ability, and
stepping off the distance was the only way I had of doing
it. Then I went eight hundred and eighty yards in a wes
terly direction along the side of the hill that lies behind
Odin's Lake, and post number three was planted in a grove
of big hemlocks with trees that are four feet in diameter
and which will make good saw logs some day when I have a
little saw mill rigged up on the creek that runs out of the
lake. From post number three I walked straight down to
the fiord again and put up a stake the right distance from
post number one, and my homestead was staked! I put
up a notice in a box on a tree where the trail to the lake
leaves the beach, and made a duplicate notice that I shall
send to the land office when I get back to' Haines. This
work took me all day, for there were many thickets to cut
my way through, and several times I lost count and had to
go back over my line to get it right. I moved my camp up
to Odin's Lake in the evening and found a place under a
branchy spruce tree where there was no snow, making it a
good place to camp. I have been resting a couple of days
looking things over and trying to decide where is the best
place to start clearing and where I ought to build. There
is a low bench down by the cove that is covered with a
thick growth of willows and alders. I think I will start
down there, making that my first field.
Odin's Lake lies right in the center of my land and
around it is the best sort of a valley with patches of alder,
birch and willow, and a sprinkling of spruce trees. It will
be comparatively easy to clear, and if everything goes well,

MY CLAIM ON VIKING'S COVE 213
I ought to be able to make a good farm out of it. I shall
try to get a little piece cleared this spring so I can put in a
small garden, and as soon as I can, I am going to fell trees
for the cabin. There is a fine grove of young spruce trees
where I intend to build, and all I'll have to do is to cut
them down, notch them, and pile them up, and there is my
house. I am chock-full of plans for what I am going to do
and the only trouble is how will I ever get the time ! Yet,
Rome wasn't built in a day, SO' why worry about time.
I am going back to Haines to-morrow to get an outfit of
grub, tools and things, and I'll try to get a boat to transport
them down here. The sun is going below the rim of the
peaks, so I had better stop writing and get my supper.

Viking's Cove,
Haines, Alaska.
April 20, 1 916.
When I came to Haines from Juneau, the school teacher
invited me to spend an evening with him and his wife and
we talked of Vikings and Norse Mythology and read poetry
about Vikings. Then we spoke of how this country was so
much like the Northland where the old Vikings had lived.
It was that talk that caused me to name my point Viking's
Point. When I rowed in here with my outfit the last time
and the nice round cove seemed to welcome me, I named it
Viking's Cove. Indeed, I felt like a Viking. Was I not
one from the land where the Vikings once lived, and was I
not even now starting out, a young rover building my home
in the wilderness of a new land as they did in the old days ?
I bought a lot of things in Haines, a tent and some more
blankets, cooking utensils and grub. I got a saw and a new
ax, a grub hoe and a shovel and the many other things I
needed. Then I bought a fourteen-foot skiff from a soldier.
It was not a very good boat and one side was broken in,
but I got it cheap and borrowed some tools from the post
engineer to fix it up so it would float. I got a gallon of coal
tar from the painter and when I have time some dry day,

214 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
I'll haul the craft up on the beach and paint the bottom of
her with tar. When I had everything bought and ready,
I loaded my things into the skiff and started rowing for my
home. It was a fine day and the fiord was as still as a mill pond.
Great flocks of ducks quacked about along the shores, and
loons and divers swam around and dove and came up and
dove and came up again, always keeping at a respectful dis
tance from the man rowing along in his heavy craft. I shot
a couple of ducks near Battery Point, landed there, built a
fire and cooked my dinner. I am never as happy as when I
am camping out, sitting before a campfire, turning my meat
on a spit and watching the rice boil in the pot. Sea gulls
came gliding past, looking inquiringly at me and my camp,
and great eagles soared overhead, making wide circles
across the sky.
I got into my skiff again and rowed along easily. The
boat was heavy to pull, as I had a big load on board, but
there was no hurry so I just moseyed along with slow
strokes, gliding around the rocky points and across the
rounded, pebbly coves.
Along in the afternoon I reached my own beach. I packed
my outfit up the beach and made my camp under some big
spruce trees near where I intended to make my clearing.
There was very little snow and I soon had a cleared space
large enough for my tent and my ten-by-twelve home
pitched over it. I cut enough spruce and hemlock boughs to
make a soft mattress and spread my bed on top of them.
Then I ran up to the lake and brought down the rest of the
outfit I had cached there, cooked supper and went to sleep.
The next day, after making my camp as comfortable as
I could, I made a trail over to my future clearing and be
gan cutting down trees and brushes and piling them in wind
rows on top of the snow. It was great fun, for my ax was
sharp as a razor and it fairly mowed down the alder brush.
By nightfall on the first day, I had quite a hole cut in the
woods and I felt very proud and ambitious. I was hewing

MY CLAIM ON VIKING'S COVE 215
a farm out of the wilderness ! I was putting my mark on
the face of the earth ! Where now stood great forests of
brush and trees, I would have fields of clover and gardens
full of fruit and flowers. I felt that I was doing good and
really accomplishing something, not only for myself, but for
the good of the whole country. I was making Alaska more
habitable. That was worth working for.
I have been slashing two weeks now and have made a
large clearing. Any one passing Viking's Cove on the fiord
can see that a ranch is being made and I am very grateful
that I am the one who has the privilege of making it.
The blue grouse have begun to hoot and the good, warm
spring is here. True, there is still snow everywhere, but it
is going fast, disappearing visibly day by day.
A few days ago I climbed up the hill that forms part of
the backbone of the peninsula. There is a grand view up
there. Lynn Canal stretches down toward Icy Straits,
flanked all the way by mountain fastnesses and pearly white
peaks, dotted all along with small, spruce clad islands. I
could look far up the Chilkat river to the ice bound interior
behind, all white, glistening white snow and ice wastes.
Over across the Chilkat inlet I could see four or five ranch
houses. There was Joe Curry's house at the foot of David
son Glacier, where there are miles and miles of meadow
lands covered with sweet native beach rye. It is an ideal
place for cattle ranching, if there were only a road and a
ferry by which to cross the inlet. That, of course, will come
in time, for all along that shore there are wide grass lands
that are bound to be taken up some day. It is a great coun
try and there are thousands of acres waiting patiently for
man to come and live on them. If we had roads up here,
the whole country would be settled up as quickly as were
Washington and Oregon when those territories were dis
covered to be habitable.
On the way down from the mountain I killed a big hooter
grouse. It is out of season but I was very meat hungry and
he sat on a branch right above me. I made a big stew and

216 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
though he was a little old and tough, it was very good. I
am going in to Haines to get a few things that I need and
to see if I can get a job when I have finished slashing and
piling the brush on this five-acre piece that I started on. It
takes money to build and I must earn enough this summer
to build a house and live all next winter.
An owl is hooting over in the deep woods and it is get«
ting shadowy around my camp. The fire glows brighter
than before and throws shafts of light up in the branches
when the flames leap from the logs. Soon I will get in
among the warm blankets to sleep and to-morrow I'll take
the trail to town once more.

Haines, Alaska.
May 15, 1916.
Time has passed swiftly and I have been very busy. I
have finished slashing the five acres of my ranch, and as the
brush was as yet too green to burn, I loaded my tent and
household goods on my boat and came into town. I landed
on the beach near Fort Seward and picked out a good place
to pitch my tent and then made my little home as comfort
able as I could with a spruce bough bed and a little table.
I went over to Haines and bought a Yukon stove with a
cast-iron top and put it in one corner of my tent. It looks
like a real little homely kitchen with my small pots and pans
hanging about. I had brought my sourdough pot in with me
and I hung it in a good warm place. In the morning I
have sourdough hotcakes with an egg in them and lots of
butter and syrup.
I have begun taking cold baths, plunging in the fiord in
the morning. At five o'clock when the sun is only a little
way above the mountain top and the little spears of grass
that have just broken through the black earth are strung
with drops of dew that gleam like diamonds in its rays, I
roll out of my warm blankets, slip off my night clothes and
step out of my tent. Out there in the cool morning breeze
my flesh shrinks from the touch of the wind and only by

MY CLAIM ON VIKING'S COVE 217
clamping my teeth together can I keep them from chatter
ing. My body says it would be much nicer to get into warm
clothes, but my brain thinks of how fine my body will feel
after it is all over, and I walk determinedly down to the
water's edge, wade in to my waist, and dive under. Once
under the water, I usually get stricken with a joyous panic
and scramble out as fast as I can but sometimes I keep my
head and swim around a little before I get out and climb
up the beach. The wind no longer seems chill and the sun
seems to have become very warming. It envelops me in a
billow of warmth as I rub myself dry and my whole body
tingles with the joy of life. I would like to run, run, run !
Then I light my fire and my hot cakes begin to splutter in
the skillet and the coffee sends up a refreshing aroma.
When my stack of three-frying-pan-size cakes are baked
and buttered and soaked in syrup, I sit down to eat joy
ously my lonesome breakfast. I am, as a rule, perfectly
happy to be alone in the morning. I have all sorts of things
to think about and to do and I get enough company when
I am with the men I work with. But some times in the eve
ning when the sun is low and I am tired from the long day, .
I sit outside of my tent at the edge of the wood, the good
warm sun casting its last, long, slanting rays through the
tree tops and the robins singing their evening song to their
mates on the nest, and there comes to' me an overwhelming
sense of loneliness. I could go over to the post or the town
and see and talk to all kinds of people but that is not what
I want or need. I have often had that same loneliness in
a crowd. It is a mate I want. One to whom I can talk
and who will understand, so that there would be perfect
sympathy between us. I have become a full grown man
and I am in the best of health. I am strong, much stronger
than most men and by rights I ought to have a mate. But
now I must not only be strong, I must have intelligence and
must demonstrate my strength and intelligence by building
a home and making myself a place in society. Thus, I do

218 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
not rush off to seek my mate as my loneliness prompts me
to, but I wait, and while waiting, I dream and look at her
picture and read her letters and think of how it will be
when she is up here in the northland. As long as I strive
for my goal and keep clean and true to my ideals, I feel that
it is my privilege to dream and that my dreams will come
true. Yet, in spite of my ideals and the fact that Marian
is the only woman who occupies my thoughts, I am uncon
sciously seeking a mate. I didn't realize it till the other day
when I was over in town and saw a girl I had never seen
before, on the street. She was coming toward me and I
wondered idly who she could be. Up here one knows every
body living in the town and a stranger attracts attention.
When she came nearer and I saw by her figure and dress
that she was a young girl of perhaps eighteen, my pulses
quickened and I examined her minutely while she was yet
a little way off; and she looked inquiringly at me, perhaps
for the same reason. When she came closer and it was
no longer polite to look closely at her, I turned my eyes
away and didn't glance at her again.
I am writing this down because it is so and because I
want Marian to know me as I really am. I am a full grown
male and I am interested in single females, in spite of my
love for the only woman in the world for me, and I would
be a liar if I let her believe that I was different.
I work on the pile driver here and get four dollars a day.
It costs me about fifty cents a day to live, so I am saving
money. If the job lasts another month or so, I shall go
back to my ranch and burn my slashing and put in a small
garden. I was over to my neighbor's town house the other day
and he told me that he used to fish salmon off the beach
where my homestead is. He said it was a very good place
to set nets and I have made up my mind to get some nets'
from the cannery if I can and see if I can make anything
at it. It would be a great help to me if I could stay right
at home making money fishing, at the same time working on

MY CLAIM ON VIKING'S COVE 219
my ranch, building the cabin and clearing the land this
summer.

Haines, Alaska.
June 8, 1916.
I went to work painting the barracks of the Post as soon
as the pile driver work was over and I have been working
steadily every day till to-day. It is raining and the boss
painter laid the whole gang off because we were doing out
side painting and that can't be done when it rains.
I have bought an old Indian war canoe, forty feet long
and eight feet wide amidships. It looks more like a Viking
ship than anything else I can think of to compare it with;
it is long, low and has upturned ends. It belonged to some
soldiers but they were neglecting it. They had left it lying
sideways on the beach where the waves reached and pounded
on it every time there was an extremely high tide. I offered
them five dollars for it and they were so happy that they
gave me a lot of stuff they had bought the summer before
when they had been very enthusiastic and were going to
make all sorts of money with it fishing and freighting.
There was a lot of wire for rigging, rigging screws and
blocks, ropes, two large sails, tools and things that were
worth at least thirty dollars, so I really made a successful
deal. The canoe was considerably battered and had two long
cracks in the bottom, but I have her up on the beach above
high tide, and now that I have her bottom fixed up, she
looks like a right good craft. I spend some time on her
every morning before I go to< work and every evening when
I can, and when I get her calked up and painted and her
rigging on, she will be a real sailing ship. I will load her
up with grub and things, sail her down and cast anchor in
Viking's Cove. It will be great fun.
I am sitting on my bed of spruce boughs using a dry
goods box for a table and I am quite happy. The rain is
drumming on the tent and everything outside is dripping

220 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
wet, but here in my little home, everything is dry and warm,
for the stove is lustily eating up the woodpile, filling the
tent with comfortable warmth. - On days like this I like to
lie and read or write. There will be many such days next
winter if I do not go south, when the wind will be driving
the snow or rain and I'll be dry and warm in my cabin.
I'll perhaps have a typewriter and get some of my manu
scripts copied. Oh, I'll not be so very lonesome with all
those things to do.
I have been wondering the last few days if it would be
right to ask a woman to come up here and live the life that
I live. Marian said in her letter that it would be wonder
ful to live in a world so primitive, strenuous and virile.
That is the way I feel about it. It is fine but I am not sure
that she realizes the drawbacks there are here. It is very
well to think of this glorious land in a general way. In a
broad way it is wonderful, splendid, desirable, but when it
comes right down to living here, making a home of it, many
things appear which I would consider exceedingly unpleas
ant for a woman who has known nothing but comfortable
circumstances. I wouldn't like to' have Marian think that
I am trying to discourage her. What I want to do is be fair
and explain all there is to it, for I don't know whether or
not such a girl could like or even bear to live the life I lead.
As far as I am concerned, I love it. When I was down at
Viking's Cove, I saw something new every day and I be
came more and more attached to the place. I think of it
already as being home to me, though it is still nothing but
a wilderness. Its possibilities are infinite. A mine has only
so much ore, a forest only so many trees, but a piece of farm
land is a never ending fortune. Once I get the best of the
wilderness, I can live on it; my children can live on it, and
my children's children, the soil, with careful working, be
coming richer and richer, a continually growing source of
wealth. But that is going rather far into the future and
not at all what I intended to write about. I know from
Marian's last letter that she is growing restless. She is

MY CLAIM ON VIKING'S COVE 221
young and strong and wants to make her own way, feeling
impatient of the home ties that bind only too securely for
the comfort of the young wanderlust. If I only had my
cabin built, I would feel safe in asking her to come up here
to look things over, but I have nothing but three hundred
and twenty acres of wilderness, a couple of old boats, a
tent, some tools and two hundred dollars. That is a great
improvement on what I had six months ago when I was
released from prison, but hardly a safe foundation on which
to marry. I don't dare ask her to leave the comforts of the
civilized world and yet I believe in the equality of the sexes
and that man and woman should make the home together.
Still, I don't know whether it works or not. If only she
were not so civilized — but she is and I have to wait till the
cabin is an actuality before I ask her.
The rain is drumming on the tent and the waves are
booming on the beach. The world is gray and chilly out
side and I feel a little forsaken and alone. How the wind
soughs through the tree tops! I feel very far from her,
someway. At first her letter gave me cheer and comfort.
I imagined that she might even come up here to visit and
I pictured our courtship and love here in the woods, but
then I thought of how little comfort I really had to offer
and how many trials there are for a woman up here and all
the obstacles came to- my mind. But that doesn't mean that
I have lost all hope of having her. I am more or less a
fatalist, and if it is our fate, we shall come together sooner
or later, and if we are not made for each other, it is useless
to buck the Fates. If we did, it would only end in dis
aster. If we go on living as we have been, doing the best
we can and letting things come as they will, it will all
come out for the best in the end and we shall be happy.

Haines, Alaska.
June 15, 1916.
My Viking ship is now ready to sail away. She lies at
anchor out there in the bay riding the waves gracefully, like

222 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
a swan. She drifts this way and that, blown by the breeze
that comes in from the fiord and tugged at by the tide that
runs out and she pulls on her anchor rope as if she were
anxious and impatient to be let loose, free to go some
where. It is warm. The spring was late in coming but when it
came, it rolled down on us like a wave of sweet blessings.
It had been rainy and chilly for quite a while. The buds on
the trees were swelling more and more but they dared not
open for a frost might set in any time in a spring as chill
as this. Then in the middle of May there came a few sun
shiny days and on the morning of the nineteenth the leaves
broke through suddenly, flooding the woods with pale, green
light. The spring was in full swing. As if touched by a
magic wand, the woods poured out myraids of flowers and
everything bloomed, lived and loved life. The song birds,
the squirrels, the scurrying rabbits, all were joyous and
loving, finding their mates. Living alone there on the beach
by the edge of the woods, working most of the day in the
post and the rest of the time with my boats, I was quifte
lonely. I sailed down to the Chilkoot cannery one day and got two
set-nets to fish with. I also got two pups that I intend
to use as sleigh dogs next winter. While down in the In
dian village of the cannery, I had two small adventures.
I walked along, nodding howdy to the Indians I knew and
inquiring about pups, and one of them took me to a squaw
who had a pup she wanted to sell. He was a nice lively little
fellow and looked as if he'd make a pretty good dog. I
asked how big his father and mother were and bickered
with her about the price. Pups had been selling around
there at a dollar apiece but this woman wanted two
dollars and a half for hers. I beat her down to a dollar and
a half, and, while doing it, she offered me her hand in mar
riage. She knew a fine place to set-net, she said and we
could put out outfits together and live Indian fashion. She
had been married to a white man, she informed me, but he

MY CLAIM ON VIKING'S COVE 223
had died and now she was looking for a new partner. I
declined quite pleasantly and started down the street in quest
of another dog.
Near the end of the village stood a little shack built up
on the side of a bank. An Indian girl stood on the porch
bent over a tub of clothes, and against the side of the shack
lay a spotted black and white pup, a very, very skinny pup.
"Is that your pup?" I asked and the girl looked up.
"You wish to sell him?" I pointed to the dog.
"How much you pay ?" she smiled, gazing at me.
I think she was playing a joke on me, trying to flirt with
me. Indian girls have learned a great deal about the ways
of the white man. She was safe enough to' make a fool out
of me there among her own people, if she could. I was
wondering what she was up to and did not answer right
away but stood there studying her. "How much you pay,
big man ?" she asked again and smiled prettily to me.
She managed to make an impression on me, not that this
was so hard to. do, for I had been very lonely for the last
few days. She was beautiful and I will be frank and say
that it thrilled me. Up here among the primitive people,
there is not much place for the inconsequential flirtations
that are so common among more civilized peoples. Here
there is a whole lot in a look of love and it stirs a lonely
man like me to the core. There was no one around to hear
us and I said nice things to her as I was buying the pup.
I asked her name and she told me that she was married and
covered her face with her hands. Her husband had paid
six hundred dollars for her a month before.
Several Indians had seen this little incident and one of
theih came to me down on the beach by my boat and told
me that this girl, Alice, had married an old fat man who
who was blind in one eye and who treated her very badly;
also that Alice was anxious to leave him and that if I wanted
to, almost all of the Indians would help me take her away
from him and marry her. The Indian pointed out a man
coming up the beach.

224 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
"Alice's husband," he said.
He was a short, squat Indian and looked like the devil
himself. Frank, my friend, said that he was as mean as
he was ugly.
"He beat Alice every night," he told me, "we hear her
scream all the time."
I got into my skiff and pulled away from the beach. I
didn't want to hear any thing more about it. It was hell
to know that she was bound to that ugly old brute and that
he was beating her till she screamed, yet had I the right to
interfere? The cave man in me said yes. He would have
liked going after her, beating the other man's resistance
down, and taking her away. But I was not a cave man and
I hoisted my anchor and set my sails, and my ship sailed
out of the inlet before the evening breeze. As I sat at the
tiller that night, the midnight sun, illuminating the sky with
many colors and glowing on the glistening peaks of the
mountains, touched my dreams ; I dreamed of love and hap
piness and my dream mate was white and had pink, very
pink cheeks and her name was Marian. Yet, it seemed at
times that I heard an Indian girl screaming in the night.
I reached Haines early in the morning and cast anchor
by the beach where my camp was. I was tired, so I went
into my tent and slept till noon.
Now I am all ready to sail for Viking's Cove in the Vi
king ship. My nets and provisions are aboard and to-mor
row morning, if there is a north breeze, I set sail for home
once more.

CHAPTER XIX
A SMALL FORTUNE IN SALMON FISHING
Viking's Cove.
July 5, 1916.
I WOKE up in the middle of the night and looked out to
see how the weather was. A north breeze was blowing
which was good weather for me, so I got up, packed my
things into my boat, hoisted the anchor, set sail and glided
out of the bay into the fiord to the southward, taken partly
by the outgoing tide and partly by the light breeze that
pushed me slowly and smoothly along. Toward morning,
when the sun had risen above the mountains in the north
east, it became calmer and I fell asleep there in the stern of
the boat and didn't wake up till the middle of the forenoon,
when I found that I had drifted several miles and was
stranded on Battery Point. I had camped here several
times before, and after I had shoved by ship off and anch
ored her in a safe, deep berth, I rowed my skiff ashore and
cooked breakfast for the pups and me.
In the afternoon when the tide turned I drifted out with
it, helping with my oars as well as I could. In the evening
I reached Viking's Cove and cast anchor.
I carried my stuff ashore and pitched camp in the grassy
edge of the woods. That same evening I set my nets out
in the good place that my neighbor had told me about. It
was not yet time to go to bed when I got through with that,
so I decided to go up into my clearing and see how my
slashing would burn. We had had dry weather for a couple
of weeks and everything was pretty well dried out. I made
a dozen small fires and they soon spread till the flames
roared and leaped away up into the air ; they 'crackled and
225

226 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
snapped and threw coals and cinders till I thought I had
made a terrible mistake and was about to set the whole
country afire- Before long a tongue of flame stretched out
toward the spruce woods and the dry moss on the ground
began to burn. .1 ran for the spring and brought a bucket
full of water, but that did no good at all. Then I remem
bered that when I was in the army we had put out a grass
fire with wet gunny sacks, so I fetched another bucket of
water, a sack and set to work. I beat up and down along the
edge of the woods, putting out fire after fire all night long,
and succeeded in keeping the woods from catching fire. It
seemed, though, that no sooner did I have one fire out, than
another one started somewhere else. Toward morning the
big long brush piles had all burned out and there were no
more fire sparks flying around, but there was one place
where the fire had eaten down into the mossy bottom and
had worked underground for quite a distance into the
woods. I could see the smoke coming up through the moss
and around the roots of several trees and somehow I could
not put it out. I had pick, shovel and ax and I dug and
chopped and dug and shoveled the mossy ground out of the
woods, but the darned fire kept right on smoking and work
ing its way deeper in. At last I was tired out and gave it
up, consoling myself by saying that if it was ordained that
those woods were to burn, they would burn in spite of me.
I went down on the beach and was about to go to bed,
when I remembered that I had my nets out. I looked down
that way and started. What was that? One of my nets, I
could see, had drifted and half of it was up on the shore, but
what were those shining things in it ? I got into my skiff and
rowed down there. I hardly dared believe that there were
salmon in the net, but as I drew my boat nearer and the
things looked more and more like fish, I received new
strength. I worked along the net from the outside and
took out sixteen salmon. They fought and wiggled with
their tails as I took them out of the net, one by one, and it
was no easy job, but, oh, how pretty they were. They

A FORTUNE IN SALMON 227
seemed like a whole fortune to me as they lay there glisten
ing in the bottom of the boat. Then I put the net out in
good shape again and rowed to the next cove to look at my
other net. It, too, had drifted and I took ten salmon out
of it and put it back where it belonged. Then I rowed
back and put all the fish in the Viking ship and went in to
camp to get breakfast. There was a big smoke coming out
of the woods, and as soon as I had eaten, I took a bucket
of water up to the place and fought fire again for several
hours. When I had the thing almost out and there were
only a few small smokes rising from the moss here and
there, I went back down to the beach, cooked a meal and
ate. Evidently my nets were not put out right, for when I
rowed out to them after I had eaten, I found that they had
both drifted in again. I got twenty more salmon, however,
making a total of forty-six. I had to take in the nets and
put them out again, which took me fully three hours, and
when I got back to the beach, the fire in the woods was
going again, fanned by a south wind that threatened to
spread through the whole woods. There was no alterna
tive. I ate some hardtack and a can of meat, then went up
there and dug and dug and stamped out the fires and swore,
till toward evening I was all worn out. The fire wasn't out
yet but I gave up the struggle and went back down to my
tent and slept. I looked out in the middle of the night to
see how things were, and my fire had gone completely out.
Then I slept.
It was well along in the next day before I was rested
enough to go out to my nets. They were both on the beach
but there were thirty-seven salmon in them and I began to
think that I was quite a fisherman. The cannery boat came
and I proudly pitched my catch on board to the captain's
great surprise, for no one else had caught any yet. That
was yesterday and to-day I took out one hundred and eleven
salmon. If this keeps up I may be able to go south to Mar
ian this coming winter.

228 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK Viking's Cove.
July 10, 1916.
I have caught five hundred fifty silvery-sided salmon and
I am getting rich fast. They just come and come unceas
ingly. At first my nets kept drifting but I put larger rocks
on for anchors and now they are secure enough. It is nice
calm weather and the cork lines of my nets are stretched,
beautifully arched in the sunshine out there in the coves.
Whenever a salmon gets tangled in them, they bob and jerk
back and forth. There must have been five that struck the
net while I was looking at it this morning, but I only took
out ten fish.
I received a lot of letters when the cannery boat came
for my fish yesterday and one of them was from Marian.
She had written that she was thinking quite strongly of com
ing up to this country with Martha and her husband, but
now her plans are changed, for Martha cannot come. I
must say that I am glad that she is not coming this summer.
Theoretically it is all right and fine for the young married
couple to build their home together, but I have doubts about
its working out in practice ; at least, I hardly think it would
work out here. I have but recently come out of jail and
I am not yet estabished as a real human being. They don't
ask me to come to their parties or their dances. I still feel
that I am ostracized on account of my criminal record and if
would hardly be fair to bring a young bride to a commun
ity where one is not sure that the people will treat her well
because of her husband's past. Yet, if I had a bit of land
cleared and a cabin built and enough money to live a while, I
might, if she were willing, take a chance on my faith that
man is good and wants to do the right thing.
The weather was wonderful this morning, calm, clear and
cool. As I looked about me after I had taken my plunge,
I was thrilled by the greatness, the vastness, the beauty of
this wonderful land. The sun had risen over a distant row
of mountain peaks in the northeast and shone on the snow
upon their crests and the glossy, wet sides of the great can-

A FORTUNE IN SALMON 229
yons everywhere, no matter where I turned. The scenery
from my beach is far more beautiful than any picture I
have ever seen. I could see each peak and canyon and
cranny, oh, so clearly, and then the dark green, stately
spruce woods, streaked with the light leaves of birch and
willows and splotched with soft green velvet of alder
patches, the black, sleek peaks towering to the sky, and the
blue-green glaciers in the upper canyons, contrasting splen
didly with the big spots of unmelted white snow. I have
this to look at every day and yet it doesn't grow old. I can
go out any time and be filled to the brim with the beauty
of it. It is mine and it is priceless and I am rich with it.
I will need no landscapes on the walls of my home; only
large windows that will let in the light and air, and the
outside that is so beautiful that any picture ever painted
would be dwarfed by it.
The tide is full now and my Viking ship lies out there at
anchor in the cove, long, slim graceful; much like the pic
tures I have seen of Viking ships. I wonder if I was a Vi
king in the long, long ago. Sometimes when I roam about
here in the bay, there come strange memories to me as if-
in the distant past I did these same things.
A shadow has fallen over the earth, for it is nearly eleven
o'clock and the sun has sunk below the mountains to the
northward. It is not dark yet, it won't be till next month,
but it is really night, for the owls are hooting in the woods
and all the other birds are asleep.

Viking's Cove.
July 29, 1916.
I have often heard that the more a man gets the more he
wants and I have been wondering if I am getting to be self
ish like that. I have been catching all kinds of fish lately.
My score is up to the two thousand mark and I am the high
man in the fleet. It has been a poor year for the other fish
ermen and when my success became known there was a
stampede for this part of the fiord. For the last week there

230 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
have been about twenty boats fishing in my bay and
up ahead along the peninsula. They all have drift nets and
can put them out any place and have them drifting along
with the tide. Ever since they came, they have caught all
the fish and I haven't had a single salmon. I don't expect
to catch any as long as they are here. Of course I have
made three hundred dollars this month and ought to be
satisfied to let the other fellows make some money, too, but,
nevertheless, I feel as if I were being cheated when I see
them pick up their nets off my point and take a boatload of
salmon out of them. One night when a boat was fishing
right inside of my bay and there was real danger of their
net getting tangled with mine, I thought I would play a
joke on them. The natives here are very superstitious, so
about midnight when it was pretty dark, I sneaked along
the beach to the place that was nearest them and then I
screamed a scream that was so horrible it made my own
hair stand on end. The Indians had been engaged in earnest
conversation but after I made that noise, the bay was as
still as death. I waited a little while longer and then I gave
another blood curdling yell that echoed from one side of the
bay to the other in the most hideous way. One of the na
tives called in a shaky voice asking what was the matter in
there. Then all was perfectly silent. After a few minutes
I gave a few catcalls and ended with a screech that would
have done credit to a full grown mountain lion. That was
too much for my credulous visitors, and they pulled in their
net faster than anybody else I have ever seen. Soon their
engine was putt-putting away down the fiord as they
searched for a quieter stopping place. That gave me some
satisfaction, and even though I didn't get one single fish the
next day, I couldn't help chuckling when I thought about it.
I have begun my house up by Odin's Lake. First, I
picked out a good flat place near a rocky bluff, then I
cleared it of brush and imagined a cabin standing there. It
looked good. A lot of young spruces stood all around, rang
ing from six inches to a foot in diameter. I began to fell

A FORTUNE IN SALMON 231
them, trimming them and piling the branches in great heaps.
I need only a few trees more to' have enough for the cabin.
When I row along the beach I see all kinds of lumber that
has drifted from goodness knows where and is lying among
the seaweed and other driftage. I take this lumber to my
beach where I have it piled according to size, shape and
condition. Every time I go up to' the lake, I take a load
of lumber with me and soon there will be enough for floor
and ceiling. Thus, by using logs and driftwood, it is easy
to cut down my lumber bill to nothing at all.
I have cleared a little space in my slashing, and as it is too
late to put in a garden, I will spend my time grubbing
stumps and burning brush, so that next summer I can start
in early to put a crop in some of my ground. I am really
proud of my work when I stand in my clearing and look
about at the burned brush piles and the many stumps that
I have already torn from their grasp in the soil. This
clearing is the greatest thing I have ever accomplished.
When I look at it, it seems almost impossible that one man
could do so much in so short a time; my heart fills with
the joy of achievement and when I think of how I can make
this land into a smooth, velvet field of clover and of the two
hundred odd acres up there around the lake that can be
made into farm land, I could cry with the joy of it. I
wouldn't change my place for the finest job jn the finest
city on earth. When things are growing on the land, things
to eat and things to sell, I shall be independent, and how
¦much better off than the people who live in cities and huddle
together in smoke, lacking the clean things of life ! I can
not see how any one can possibly like to live in a smoky
city when there are such good places like this to be had for
the taking. But men are not all alike and I remember one
fellow down in Los Angeles who said that it must be ter
rible to be out alone away from everybody. "What if you
should get sick?" he had said, and I laughed and said one
did not get sick out like that.
I have had a dickens of a time teaching my dogs that

232 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
my tent is a sacred place wherein no dog may enter. When
ever I left my camp and there was a chance to get in, in
they would go and grab everything in sight. One day I tied
a rope about the neck of each of them, letting about six feet
of it drag behind. I left the tent, and no sooner was I out
of sight, than the pups rushed in. I hurried back, getting
there in time to get hold of both ropes and I jerked them out
backwards as violently as I could. Talk about ki-yi-ing!
One would think they were being slaughtered, inch by inch.
They knew they had done wrong, and when I took the ropes
off, they went to their kennels and stayed there a long while.
That one experience was enough for them and they haven't
bothered my tent since.

CHAPTER XX
LONELY IN SKAGWAY Viking's Cove.
Aug. 21, 1916.
Mr fishing is over for the season. I have had bad luck
these last three weeks. It has been blowing, blow
ing, blowing! First, the Indians came and lay out
in front of my nets and caught all the fish, then the storm
came and drove them away and I thought that I would get
some fish, but all I got was sticks, logs, seaweed and every
thing that drifts on the tide. My nets got torn to shreds
and were practically all gone two weeks ago, so it's no won
der I didn't catch any fish.
Last week, however, came the crowning mishap of them
all. I had gone over to my neighbor's ranch across the pen
insula on Pleasant Cove and was having a good time. It
was Sunday and my nets were spread on the racks to dry.
A heavy gale was blowing and I shouldn't have left my cove
for there was no telling what might happen to my Viking
ship riding there at anchor, but I had the visiting mood and
went any way. While we were eating dinner a boy who
was vsiting at my Flat Bay neighbor's ranch, came run
ning over and told me breathlessly that the Viking ship was
adrift and going up the bay. I got up and ran as fast as I
could through the woods toward my own side of the
peninsula. At Flat Bay I saw my ship drifting toward the
rocks on the opposite point. A small, leaky skiff lay on the
beach and I pulled it down and got in. Great breakers were
rolling in over the beach but I got the skiff through them all
right. Then I rowed as fast as I could, but it was a long
233

234 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
way out to her and she was very close to the other point. I
rowed frantically but my Viking ship was doomed. Had
I reached her, I doubt if I could have handled her and I
might have gone down with her. She drifted sideways onto
a point of jagged rock before a high cliff. The breakers
caught her and lifted her high up on the rocks ; her bottom
struck and she rolled over, her mast breaking. Then she
was dashed against the side of the cliff and disappeared. I
fancied I could hear the sickening crash as she was flung to
her destruction and my heart sank. I hadn't noticed that
the little skiff I was in was almost full of water and that
I had nothing to bail with. When I discovered this, the loss
of the Viking ship was forgotten in my immediate peril. I
made for the nearest cove regardless of the great breakers
rolling in on the beach and I was so glad to escape with my
life, that I was less sorry over the loss of the Viking.
When the storm abated, I went over there and found her
broken into a hundred pieces, scattered over a mile of
beach. I salvaged her rigging and sails and one of her
oars, but the rest of her was lost.
I caught only a few fish after that and have sent word to
the cannery that I am going to quit for the season. I was
in town yesterday and was offered a job on a new bank
building that is going up in Skagway. It is a four dollar a
day job and will last two months. I accepted it and am
making ready to leave, packing up the stuff I will take and
cacheing the rest in the woods where no beach-combing
pirates will be liable to find them and spirit them away to
second hand stores in Juneau. As soon as the cannery boat
has come to fake my nets, I will load my blanket roll into my
skiff and row to Chilkoot cannery to1 get my pay ; and from
there I will row to Skagway.
When I was in Haines, I saw Mike, the Irishman from
the jail. He had risen to a position next to that of the
assistant superintendent in the mine and then he had begun
to drink. He had become worse and worse and at last they
had fired him. Then he had gone on one grand drunk,

LONELY IN SKAGWAY 235
emerging therefrom broke, down and out. The marshal
had notified him that he was an undesirable and would have
to leave town. Mike had heard that I was doing well in
Haines, so he had stowed away on a boat and reached there
on the day I came in from the ranch. I gave him all the
money I had on hand so he would have enough to go down
to the states. Poor Mike! I am for prohibition and if I
ever vote on that question I will make a great big cross on
the dry side of the column.

Skagway, Alaska.
Aug. 26, 1916.
Once more I am in the town where I met my Waterloo.
The cannery boat came and took away my nets, and the
next morning early, before the sun was up, I started out
from Viking's Cove, my dogs at my feet and the little white
cat that one of my neighbors gave me some time ago' perched
daintily on my blanket roll. It was a fine, calm day and I
rowed straight through to the cannery, sharing some bread
and cheese with my family on the way. The trip was un
eventful. We reached Chilkoot Inlet in the evening, and
after receiving my money, I started immediately for Skag
way, rowing all night through the long, narrow fiord that
cleaves two great mountain ranges and is the end of Lynn
Canal. We reached our destination early in the morning.
I rented a small shack and installed my family, Fanny and
Towser in the woodshed, and the kitty in the house.
This is Saturday night. I have been here three days, the
loneliest three days I have ever spent in my life. Right in
the midst of one's own kind, tO' be alone, absolutely alone 1
Most of the people here seem to know me and they nudge
one another as I pass along the street. "That's him," I can
fairly hear them say. "That's Norman, the burglar, the jail
breaker." Yet that side of it doesn't bother me so much.
They have a right to think what they please. It is the feel
ing of being alone that gets me. Oh, I wish I were back
home in my cove, away from the cold, indifferent town.

236 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
There the woods are like kind people to me, the sun shines
through them and lights the deep ferns on the hillsides. The
robins hop about in my clearing unafraid and trusting and
sing to me in the evening when I am lying in my tent. Well,
I'll be there again before very long. To write about it gives
me cheer and it is not so bad, after all. I have my cat and
dogs at least, and that is more than most working stiffs have.
My cat lies on my lap right now and purrs and purrs and
the dogs are not a bit stingy about showing their affection.
They love me, these friends, for I feed them and am kind
to them. They cry and howl pitifully when I go to work
leaving them locked up in the yard and the house. I lost
Fanny the first day I was here. She had never seen so
many people before and was very much bewildered ; when a
train came rumbling in and the locomotive whistled shrilly,
it was too much for her and she went like a streak in the
opposite direction. I searched and searched for her, hiring
a bunch of kids to help me, but she was gone and finally I
gave it up altogether. Then, in the evening when I walked
along whistling the call she knows so well, I heard a whim
per from somewhere. I called her and looked under the
nearby houses but there was no Fanny to be seen. Yet I
could plainly hear her whimper. At last I found her under
a sidewalk, though how she had managed to get in there
was a mystery, for she could neither get further in, nor
back out, and I had to take up the boards of the walk to free
her. How she wriggled and waggled and wagged her tail
when I got her out! And I was just as happy as she was.
To-morrow is Sunday and I am going to the church to
hear the organ play. I have only my overalls and mack-
inaw to wear but that can't be helped, and if the other peo
ple don't like my appearance, they don't need to look at me.
I wonder if they will always be cold and unfriendly to me
even after I get married, if that ever happens. Somehow,
I am beginning to feel the ground slip from under my feet
with her. She seems so far away and there are so many ob
stacles before me. She doesn't write as often as before and

LONELY IN SKAGWAY 237
neither do I, and that only in a desultory manner. There
seems to be little to write about. What more natural than
that she should find some bne down there whom she could
love ? Oh, I have a sinking sensation when I think of that !
I am not enough of an optimist evidently. I make the worst
of things. She writes me that she does not love anybody
else; and that there is no danger of that and asks me to
come down ; then right away I imagine that I am losing out.
I think I'll stay up here another winter and not go south
till I have the house built and the land productive enough to
support a family. Oh, but I wish I were back home on the
ranch where I never feel as lonesome as I do now! It is
after ten and the night is very dark outside. My dogs out
there are barking at some other dogs. They don't seem to
be able to understand the city dwellers, either.

Skagway, Alaska.
Sept. 7, 1916.
I have been standing up to my ankles in water, working
on the foundation of the bank all day, and now, after eat
ing my supper of lettuce, cheese and bread, I am sitting
with my feet in the oven of the stove, trying to find out how
it feels to have really warm feet once more. As my feet
get warmer, I begin to forget the hardships that are the
daily lot of the worker and I try to think of something to
write in my diary. It is remarkable how little I am expe
riencing these days. I work on the building with men all
around me and I ought to be learning all kinds of new
things, but I am not. It is not that I haven't made friends
with the other men ; I have, but that does not make me a bit
less lonesome. I am beginning to believe that it is my own
fault. The men are friendly enough and some of them
really like me, at least I think they do. One of them offered
to lend me one of his suits of clothes so I could go to a dance
with him, and surely that is a sign of good will. But in
spite of that, the men fail to interest me. I find myself
thinking of other things when they spin their yarns and tell

238 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
their jokes to me. It is not that the things I think about
are so very important, for I just dream along, thinking of
this and that, mostly about Marian and Viking's Cove.
When I was in jail I had no difficulty in listening to the oth
er prisoners' tales of woe and I was really interested in
them and their point of view, but these men have nothing
of interest to tell and my mind wanders off into my own
thoughts as they talk. Maybe they have been working hard
all their lives and can only think of little cheap jokes, dances
and such things ; but then it may also be that I have been
alone too much and have developed the habits of a hermit.
If this is so, then I am not the kind of a man who ought
to marry. I could never make a woman happy going about
wrapped up in my own thoughts. She would soon tire of
me and begin to long for congenial companionship. She
would be far more lonesome than I have ever been and
our life would either be without sympathy and understand
ing, those things that are so necessary to human happiness,
or we would drift apart and be divorced. I am getting the
habit of looking at the black side of things and am begin
ning to imagine all sorts of foolish things, such as, for ex
ample, that I have not one real friend in the world. I know
that this is not so, for the missionary at Klukwan was my
friend and many, many people offered to help me when I
was in trouble. Even the jailer tried to get me a parole.
One day about a month or so ago down on the ranch, two
soldiers came down to fish in the lake. We talked of this
and that, and for some reason or other I remarked that not
so very long ago I had been in jail without a penny, so to
speak, and without a real friend in the world. One of the
soldiers looked disgustedly at me as if to say I was the
darndest liar he had even seen. He told me that he had
been at Fort Seward when I had broken out and that as far
as he could see, I had a lot of friends there. Everybody
there had spoken well of me and had expressed a willing
ness to help me out if they got the chance. "You would
rather steal than beg," he said, "and I like a man like that."

LONELY IN SKAGWAY 239
This, of course, was very nice of him to say, though af
at the time it embarrassed me, and I had to admit that the
last part of my statement was not true, but that what I
meant to say was that I felt as though I hadn't a friend in
the world. I had been quite cheered up and at peace for a
few days, and then a young lad from Haines and two young
ladies had come up to fish in the lake. I was up there fell
ing trees for my house and they went right past me without
even saying hello. Immediately I imagined that they looked
down on me and considered me so low that they wouldn't
even say good-day to me, though they came to fish in my
lake. It made me very down-hearted and I wondered if I
would ever be considered decent enough for a girl to speak
to. I was also angry with them for coming and disturb
ing my peace of mind and I determined to nail a sign on one
of the trees by the trail, saying that if the owner of this
place was not worthy of being greeted, decency should com
pel people not to trespass.
Then, after I had made myself miserable and lonely, one
of the ladies came over and spoke very nicely to me and we
had an interesting talk ; and the other smiled quite sweetly
when they went away. That is just a fair example of how
I will imagine things. I suppose that if I were to put on a
suit of good clothes and go out among people trying to be
pleasant and accommodating, they would not be nearly as
hostile to me as I imagine they are. Thus, it may be only
because I have stood in water up to my ankles all day and
am very tired, that I feel that I am an outcast.

Skagway, Alaska.
Sept. 29, 1916.
The bank has grown and there remains only the roof and
a few fixtures to be put on. As it has grown, I have grown
with it. I have had three experiences, one that made me
lonely, one that made me feel stung, and one that made me
feel proud of myself.
Every Sunday I go to church, both in the morning and in

240 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
the evening. It is not that I am getting religion but because
I like to sing and to listen to the organ. I sit in a corner
near the door to be as inconspicuous as possible. I am not
of the same faith as the other people of the congregation,
I don't even know that I have any faith, so I don't want to
impose on them ; I sit near the door so I can slip out unno
ticed When the service is over. I make myself feel justi
fied in doing this by putting a quarter in the collection plate
every time and I notice they never forget to' come down in
my corner for it, so I guess it is all right for me to go
there. So far, no one has ever spoken to me, except once
when I absent-mindedly took a seat up in the middle of the
church. Other people came in and sat on each side of me,
so that when the service was over, I had to wait a while be
fore I could get out. When I got to the door, the preacher
was there shaking hands and saying a few pleasant words to
each person passing out. I was quite embarrassed when he
took my hand and said that he was glad to see me attend
services so regularly, for I felt like a pretender. I was a
stranger in town he supposed and he asked me my name.
"Svend Norman," I said, and I heard a lady or a girl
snicker somewhere. The blood rushed to my head and I
hurried away, deciding not to go there again, but next Sun
day I was so darned lonesome and music hungry, that I
went anyway, but I was careful to take the seat close to the
door where I could slip out before any one could stop me
and ask me embarrassing questions. I suppose the preacher
has found out what kind of a scoundrel I am, for I met
him on my way from work the other day and he didn't even
look at me. But maybe I am imagining that, too. It is so
hard to tell what is reality.
There is going to be a dance at the Elk's hall next Sat
urday night and I have received an invitation to go. So
has every other human of white skin in the town, but just
the same, I feel slightly elevated because they did not
ignore me and I have decided to go. If I do not do some
thing like that before long, I may become a hermit and not

LONELY IN SKAGWAY 241
fit to live among human beings. But the most astounding
part of this thing is that I have asked a girl to go with me.
I got into the habit of eating dinner at a boarding house
where a lot of the men working on the building live. We
had a good time there generally for the crowd was a very
jolly one. We were always arguing and contesting with
one another about this and that and pulling off athletic
stunts, so it was no wonder that when the cook announced
one day that his two sisters were coming to live at the house,
we all resolved to get one of them to go to the dance and it
became a game of who-will-get-to-take-the-girls-to-the-
dance. The boys all spruced up, bought new collars and
shirts and sent their good clothes to be freshly pressed by
the tailors. I wanted to get a decent suit of clothes for a
long time, and I thought that now was as good a time as
any. One evening I went down to a dry goods store and
told the saleslady that I wanted a good suit of clothes. At
first she showed me some fifteen dollar suits but I told her
that I wanted a good suit of clothes and I didn't mind
paying a good price for it. I wanted a blue serge or a gray
suit, but the serges she showed me were all of poor mater
ial and I couldn't find a gray shade to suit me. I don't be
lieve they really had a good suit of clothes in the store but
she was smart and if it was an expensive suit I wanted, she
could surely sell me one. She showed me a black suit with
a fine purple thread running through it. It was very attrac
tive looking to me. It did not feel like very good goods but
I liked the color and the price impressed me most of all. I
can see now that that was what caused me to buy it, even
though it was not quite a fit. The thing that makes me sure
that I was stung is the fact that the honest lady gave me a
good silk and flannel shirt, a pair of excellent suspenders, a
tie and three pairs of fancy socks, to go with the suit, all
for nothing. I have asked other people who are in a position
to know such things, what they think the suit is worth and
the consensus of opinion is that it is worth about twenty-
five dollars. I paid a good deal more than that for it, so I

242 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
hardly feel that I have made a very profitable business
transaction. The girls came and the fun began. As soon as I got a
chance after I had been introduced, I asked one of them to go
to the dance with me and she said that she would. I thought
that I had beaten the other fellows to it and I felt quite vic
torious about it. I had to tell the others about it as we were
all sitting on the curb waiting for the whistle to blow us
to work. One of the lads became very angry and called
me a liar because the girl had promised to go with him.
Then another boy jumped up and said that we were both
fools, for he had the inside track and everything was ar
ranged. Then we all laughed, for it developed that the girls
had promised to go with every one of us. Their brother had
put them up to that and the competition is as keen as ever.
I am rather glad that I shan't have to take either of them.
When they first came, I was excited and curious but that
soon wore off. They were just like other girls, good look
ing, giggling and in for a good time. Not at all the kind of
girl I would want to marry and the more I see of other girls
and women, the more I realize that there is only one woman
for me. I was a little afraid that I would have to take one
of them to the dance, anyway, so I told one of the boys that
I was just dying to get married for I needed a wife the
worst way to work down there on my ranch. I told him that
I was out for a wife and would take most anybody who
would have me. This, of course, was too rich for him to
keep to himself and it soon got to the girls, who in turn, had
no use at all for me after that. They could get me any time
they wanted me, so what was the use of chasing me? I
feel very proud of myself for this exploit and it almost off
sets my buying that expensive suit.

Skagway, Alaska.
Oct. 6, 1916.
The fall is here. The mountain sides are spotted with
yellow and red and brown and the snowline that a couple of

LONELY IN SKAGWAY 243
weeks ago merely marked a cap on some of the highest
peaks, is now half way down the mountainsides, almost to
the timber line. We have already had a couple of frosts
and there was an inch of ice on the pools of water on the
streets. Winter is coming fast and it will soon be time for
me to go back home to Viking's Cove to build my cabin.
Yet, I hesitate to go, for I am making four dollars a day
and I oughtn't to leave as long as I can make that.
I went to the dance all right but I did not have a good
time. I had quite a few dances and my friends who work
on the building were quite eager to introduce me to girls, yet
I did not feel like one of the crowd. I felt that I was mute,
a dummy, slow. I would dance along, watching the other
couples merrily swing about, the men saying silly things to
be funny and the women giggling, but somehow, I could
not bring myself to do that too. I felt that I was a stranger
in spite of the fact that they all knew me and my history,
and that made me feel that I was not welcome.
I left the place early and went back to my shack where
my dogs and the cat were joyous to see me, and that gave
me some comfort. That night I decided that it was not
good for me to live alone and that I would not better my
condition by doing so, so I determined to go to Viking's
Cove, build a cabin, and then go south to see if Marian cares
to come with me. I want to see her before she goes and
marries some other man. She tells me in her letters that
she has a new friend, that he is only a pal but I know that
the step from being a pal to being a lover is very short. I
had a letter from Martha, too, and she urged me to come
south. "You can't leave a girl alone like that for years/' she
wrote. "As long as you couldn't come, Marian wouldn't
look at another man, but now when you can and don't, well,
that is your lookout. But I have given you fair warning."
Those were her words and I am going to heed them. I'll
make a dash for the south as soon as my cabin is built.

244 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
Skagway, Alaska.
Oct. 15, 1916.
I would have quit here a few days ago but the boss asked
me to stay a couple of weeks longer, and because he has
been a good friend to me while I have been here, I am stay
ing and I am glad of it, for I have had quite an experience.
It happened last night.
A Professor Cooper is in town, lecturing on phrenology.
He is giving five free lectures at the Presbyterian church
and he gave his third one last night. After each lecture he
gives a public reading of two persons in the audience and it
causes great amusement among the people to have this blind
man feel of the men's heads and tell by that of their habits,
ambitions, abilities and shortcomings. I didn't happen to
know any of the men who volunteered the first two nights
but I could tell by the assenting nods and the unanimous
laughter that the professor came pretty near hitting the nail
on the head every time. Yesterday when we were talking
about it at noon, one of the fellows dared me to volunteer
that night and" I said that if he would go up, too, I was
game. It would be a great joke to me to show the more or
less hostile people in Skagway that I was not the criminal
they thought me. I had heard the blind professor lecture
two nights and I had faith in his knowing what he was talk
ing about, and in his ability to tell by the shape of a man's
head what his characteristics were and what he amounted
to. I knew darned well that I was no criminal and I saw a
chance to prove it.
That night after the lecture was over, when the professor
asked for two men to volunteer, I walked up the aisle to the
platform and sat down. I had a little stage fright, for it
caused a lot of whispering in the hall. Norman, the burglar
and jail breaker of whom it was said that he was an anar
chist and a little queer! Ah, what a lot of necks were
craned as I sat there beside the other man and faced them
defiantly. I felt that this was one of the crucial moments

LONELY IN SKAGWAY 245
of my life. This would either make or break my career in
this part of the country.
The blind phrenologist ran his fingers lightly over my
head and it sent a thrill down my backbone. "Here," he said
to the audience, and an expectant hush fell over the room,
"here is a man whose chief characteristics are kindness and
sympathy. In fact, I believe he is too sympathetic for his
own good. If, for example, he thought any one of you was
in real need, he would give you the last thing he had and
do without himself." Again he ran his fingers over my head :
"He is capable of a great deal of reasoning and should be
able to concentrate on almost any problem. He is liable
to become a socialist on account of that. He has powers
of concentration and penetration and he has lots of de
termination. He has lots of grit. Grit is here, high above
the ear," he explained and turned the side of my head to
the audience. "See this bump here, that's grit. He has
worlds of it and if he ever makes up his mind to do anything
hard, he will do it, and the harder it is for him, the more
sure he is of making a job of it."
Then he turned to the lad at my side. "Now, this man
has great ability to be cheerful and happy. When he goes
down the street, I'll bet he generally whistles. This other
man is serious, but this one makes light of things; talks,
laughs, and sings all the time. When he gets a job he puts
his whole heart into it and makes enthusiastic plans for the
future, great optimistic plans of what he is going to do.
But he soon wearies of his job — not because he is lazy,
bless me, no, there is not a lazy bone in his body and he is
on the go all the time, but he doesn't like to stay with one
thing too long and demands plenty of variety in his work.
In a private reading I can tell him what kind of work he
is best fitted for." Here the professor was hinting that
even a phrenologist must consider the high cost of living.
"Now," he began again, "I can't see these two men, but if
I wanted to fry both of them, I'd get the fat from this man,"
he patted me on the shoulder, "to fry this man in." There

246 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
was much laughter, for my friend was very skinny. After
the laughter had subsided he gave me a smart rap on the
shoulder and said, "There, ladies and gentlemen, is an
unusually strong man. He has an extraordinary individ
uality. He has powers of observation and I am sure he
has an insatiable desire to see everything and to know
about all he sees. He is irresistibly impelled to individualize
things and will, in general, see and understand things and
actions that would pass unseen by most people." I cannot
remember any more of what he said word for word, but he
told the audience that I ought to be a literary man and
that I might be a poet, too. He said that I had stage fright
at the present, but that I would get over that and that
I could get over anything I put my mind to, and several
other nice things. I was so happy when I went home that
my head swam.
The next morning when I went to work, one of the men
came to me and exclaimed, "Holy smoke, Svend! That
phrenologist gave you a hell of a boost. Did you have to pay
him anything for it; £'"

CHAPTER XXI
BUILDING MY CABIN BY ODIN'S LAKE
Viking's Cove.
Nov. 5, 1916.
I AM home once more. I came from Skagway on a calm
day with a lad who is going to help me build my cabin.
I didn't want to build a very large one, for if was liable
to snow any time and it would take too long for us to handle
such logs. So I made it twelve feet wide and sixteen feet
long and when a week had gone by it was up and only
needed a shake roof to be a shelter. Frank had some
work to do in town, so he left me to do the rest. I got
along fine until one day I broke the shake maker and had
to go to town to get another one. There I found a letter
from Marian in my box with an invitation from her to
spend Christmas with her family.
I was delighted and read it several times and as I read
it again and again, it dawned on me that she was writing
a great deal about her friend. No, she did not love him, it
was merely a friendship. I can see that she has made a
sort of exalted being of me, an ideal that she respects and
that no other man can take the place of in her heart. I am
afraid that she has forgotten what I really look like and
she will be very much disappointed when she sees me again
and will most likely marry the other man. I have a good
notion to stay up here and let Fate take care of me —
but maybe Fate wishes me to go south. No, I'll go and
face it out. If I win, I know that I shall be the happiest
man on earth, and if I lose — well, I'll come back up here
247

248 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
and be married to my ranch till some day Fate sees fit tor
bring me a mate.
I wrote a long letter to Marian, telling her just how mat
ters stood with me. I asked her to think of me as just a
man and not as "something tremendous, somehow," as she
termed it. Our acquaintance is but very slender and I asked
her not to let my love for her carry too much weight, be
cause most likely when she saw me she would be disap
pointed in me. I asked her to consider that other girls have
not thought me worth while to have and that only two
weeks ago two girls in Skagway had turned very cool to
ward me as soon as they learned that I wanted a wife ; and
that she would most likely do the same thing once she
saw me.
I have a feeling to-night that* I have lost out in the mar
riage business. How could any girl love me, anyway?
Girls like a jolly, joking, laughing sort of fellow, one who
can make them giggle and laugh all the time, one who can
entertain them and show them a good time. I am not that
way at all. I used to be pretty jolly, but the prison has
taken that out of me and I am too serious minded to ever
be interesting to one of those playful, fresh young beings.
All I am fit for is to work. I work from early dawn till
late night and when I have a moment's spare time, I read or
write. I am a grinder and I am mostly wrapped up in
myself and my grinding. In time, perhaps, I will be used
to living alone and not mind it at all. Well, time will show.
I become too pessimistic when I get to thinking how small
my chances really are and I ought not to write about it at
all. I'm sure it doesn't help me.
I have cut a lot of shakes and the roof to my house is
almost on. When I get a floor and a ceiling in, a bed in
the corner and a spruce mattress, I'll have a real home.
My own home for the first time in my life! I'll make it
comfortable and put a lot of grub in it before I go south, so
that no matter in what financial shape I come back, I'll have
a home to come to where I can at least live and eat.

BUILDING MY CABIN 249
Viking's Cove.
Nov. 20, 1916.
It is winter. The leaves fell off the trees a month ago,
leaving the woods naked to face the big snows and the long
cold. It has been raining, hailing and snowing and the
wind switched around and came whooping down from the
ice-bound interior, freezing everything. An inch of ice
lay on the lake this morning, and when I poured a pailful
of water over my head, the blood was sent rushing through
my veins and I ran, joyously frantic, for my little, warm
cabin and rubbed myself dry by the hot stove. Ah, but it
is good to have a home and to be there. Here I am in my
own cabin on my own ranch where everything, animate and
inanimate, is dear to me. The trees surrounding the clear
ing whisper of love to me and the white encircling moun
tains fill me with peace and contentment. I feel very won
derfully loving and satisfied to-night. The spruce knots
are crackling and spluttering in my stove and the cabin is
comfortably warm. I feel strong and capable aria" confident
of the future. Even if I never get a mate, the woods around
me are full of life and I love it all and shall not be so alone.
But to-night I don't feel like a loser. I want a mate as
badly as ever. My ranch, my lake, my woods are now my
first love, but once she is here, they will have to take second
place, for she will be queen of it all. I know that she will
love it as I love it, for no one who has been here, has had
anything but praise for the beauty of the place. She and
I will live here together, in harmony with the peaceful,
natural life so abundant around us.
To-day I only worked for a few hours, for the sunshine
was bright and it was the best kind of a day for hunting.
I went down along the beach and got a fine mallard duck,
then I went up into the woods and a blue grouse flew up
and I put her in my bag, too. When I got into the alder
and willow patches, I shot four big, white rabbits and now
they are all hanging up outside of my cabin and I am sup
plied with meat till I leave here next month. The duck,

250 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
however, is roasting in the oven all stuck full of thin strips
of bacon and filled with apples, prunes and bread crumbs
and it is sending a tantalizing aroma through the cabin.
I don't like the idea of leaving here and I wish I could get
my mate without going away from this place. Yet, the big
snows will soon be here and I shan't be able to do much
work and a wife means more to me than a dozen ranches,
so I am leaving in the first days of next month. I am going
to go to her as I am, or at least I will wear the suit I bought
in Skagway, and I shall try to be fair and promise her
nothing but hardships and an uncertain life in a new, raw
land — and love. Then, if she comes, it will be for love of
me and all will be well on Viking's Cove. Once she is
here, my arm will surely grow stronger, work will be joy,
and fatigue and pain a pleasure, for it will be for her, for
me, and for ours.

Viking's Cove.
Nov. 23, 1915.
More winter weather, raining and snowing, freezing and
blowing. One day the woods would be white with snow
with the cold north wind sweeping down from the icy
wastes, and the next day the south wind would burst out
of the sky with sleet and rain and fog, and the woods would
become dull brown-green, the bare branches of the birch
and willow standing like barren forest skeletons. The
storm would tear at the tree tops, swaying the woods in
wavy rushes as wind sweeps a wheat field. One day my
lake would be frozen over and I'd walk on the bulging ice
and dream of my boyhood days when I played on the frozen
sound; and the next day the ice would be gone and the
water would be churned and lashed to a frenzy of white
foam. Then the storm would abate and through the torn
clouds the sun would peep coquettishly, as though to say,
"Did you think I would never shine again? Cheer up, the
world is not so gray as it may appear." Then I would grip
my ax, for after the rainy days of cold and wet, I'd enjoy

BUILDING MY CABIN 251
the warmth of the sun and the beauty of the glittering
raindrops in the spruce branches tenfold more than if the
sun had shone unceasingly. "A little sunshine,
A little rain,
A little pleasure,
A little pain —
That's life."
The greater the pain, the more hardships, the fiercer the
struggle for our desire, the more we appreciate the joys and
pleasures and the fulfillment of our desires. When finally
we have had our share of pain, and Fortune turns her
beaming face on us, then, and then only, can we appreciate
the full cup of life

CHAPTER XXII

THE GIRL AGAIN

Viking's Cove.
Nov, 25, 1 91 6.
YESTERDAY morning, after the rain had beaten down
on the roof of my little cabin all night, the sun peeped
through the spruce tops and a west wind swept the
heavens clear. A blue jay chattered good-morning to me
from a branch above the door and the air was clear and
crisp and sweet. I had a lot of work to do, but I hadn't
been to town for ten days. The trail looked mighty in
viting and it did not take me long to go to town. I grabbed
my rifle and ran lightly over my new made trail to my
neighbor's ranch a mile away. I talked with him a while
and took an order for some grub he wanted me to fetch
him ; then I was off again across Flat Bay and through the
woods to Chilkat River. I was full of life and jumped from
root to root over the winding trail and took deep, long
breaths of clean, cool air. I was glad that I was alive and
whole and strong. Joy welled up in me by floods and sent
me whooping through gullies and over ridges, jumping small
creeks and plunging through the overhanging brush. The
sweat ran down my face and my breath came short, but I
soon got my second wind and my lungs opened up to ever
larger draughts of sweetness. I leaped along the trail as
though tireless. There were many things to be had in
town ; news and letters waiting for me in my postoffice box,
so I ran and ran and ran, now and then stopping to take a
deep drink of ice cold spring water where it gushed out of
the mossy ground and flowed across the trail, trinkling
over roots and pebbles. 252

THE GIRK AGAIN 253!
O'Brien had caught a fox the night before and I watched
him skin it and then ran on again, trotting along the beach
of the Chilkat Inlet to Haines.
It was with an open spirit as free from care and sorrow
as the clean-swept blue sky above that I entered the post-
office and took out my mail. "Don't put too much emphasis
on my relations with this friend, but don't put too little,
either," were Marian's words in her last letter. Right then
I wasn't worrying about him. I was expecting a letter from
her and I was expecting it to read "Come south, friend
Svend, and come soon. I want you to come, Svend Viking."
But I am used to hard knocks — Once when I sat on the
prisoner's bench, the guard standing close to me ready to
grab me or shoot me should I make a false move, I listened
to the judge as he talked about my record and sentenced me
to fifteen months in jail. Then and there a new phase of
my life began. I saw the cage, my fellow prisoners, and I
began to plan what to do during those fifteen long months
in the cellar under the courthouse.
She said that she intended to marry her friend right
away. So now, as I read her letter I began to plan. My
plans had been blown to the winds. I gave up the idea of
going south. Fool that I have been to build a world of
love and air castles!
Then I read the other letter, the one from Martha. She
said that she was "knocked over" and hoped I would sur
vive the blow better than she. She hoped I would give up
my ranch and come south and join them at the university
in California. I'd like to go to college but I am not going
to give up my ranch. I may lose my girl, my friends, my
money, but my ranch I am going to hang onto with all
my strength. I am going to improve it if it takes my last
ounce of energy and my last nickel. They needn't worry
about me ; I'll do nothing foolish. But here I am bragging
my own virtues and my own determination. That's be
cause I'm so stirred up. When a man who has been dream
ing of love and has been expecting to get married in a

254 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
couple of months to a girl who has stayed with him through
thick and thin for two long years, learns just before he
is going down to claim her, that she is to marry another
man before he can get there, it is no wonder that he is
somewhat agitated. In a few minutes I had gone from the
highest spirit of optimism and joyous living, to silent, de
spairing meditation and doubt in myself. Oh, but I should
like to go south ! Her invitation for me to spend Christmas
with her family still stands good and all my other friends
are expecting me and making plans for me, and maybe
I'll go anyway. But I am afraid mine is the long, lone
trail till I make a pile of money, and then some one will
rope me and tie me and perhaps strip me of all I have
made. Or perhaps I'll lose patience and let a moment's
impulse sway my reason, take a squaw for my mate and
live like many squaw-men without ambition, letting booze
drown my disgust for myself and passing my days in
stupid, thoughtless, seedy existence. Yet, that is not likely.
Though I feel broken in spirit now, I know that within me
lies the spark of a mighty impulse that will again drive me
on to my object, the respect of my kind, to be a man among
men. That part of me would never tolerate any permanent
idleness. And so now she is married ! Married to the man she told
me she could never love. Can it be that she is afraid of me
and took him because she knew him better? Oh, I wish
I knew if she really loved him! I have half a notion to
start south right away. "Faint heart ne'er won fair lady,"
the proverb reads. If she is already married, as she said
she probably would be when I got this letter, I can't see
what I could do. I think I'll just keep on writing to her
and sending her my diary off and on as she asked me to do.
If he doesn't like it, they can let me know about it.
I don't believe in these hasty marriages. Back in Den
mark they are generally engaged for a year before they
marry, and while there are many broken engagements, there
are but few broken marriages. Now there is only one thing

THE GIRL AGAIN 255
for me to do and that is to hope, and if I find out that she
is married, then I will forget about her.

Viking's Cove.
Dec. 2, 1916.
Another week or more has passed since I wrote in this
diary, a week of constant doubt and change of mind. One
day I was going south and the next day I was going to stay
on my ranch. But now at last I have made up my mind
to stay here, doing what I can to improve my homestead.
The snow is three feet deep on the level and much deeper
where it has drifted. I had to wallow in snow up to my
arm pits to get to two of my nearest traps and I cannot
reach the others until I can use skis. While I was strug
gling through the snow, falling headlong into it at times
when I ran onto an unexpected root or log, I said to myself,
"You surely have nerve, expecting a woman from California
who has hardly even seen snow, to come up here and live
under such conditions." Everything has turned out right
for me. This is a man's country and will remain so till
men make good roads, build warm, roomy houses, and
have all the necessary comforts a woman must have. When
we have all this here, when there is a roomy, comfortable
house on Odin's Lake, then I shall feel justified in bringing
a woman here. I hadn't thought deeply enough on this
matter. I had thought of a woman as a creature much like
myself who would soon adapt herself to these conditions.
But when I look back and see the men whom I have lived
with, especially while I was in the army, and realize how
often some of them would consider as hardships things
which I thought were mere play or enjoyment; when I re
member that these men were soldiers in fairly good con
dition, and then try to imagine a woman like Marian living
my life and sharing my hardships, I see how impossible it
all is. How hopeless! There is no chance that the kind
of woman I want could build a home with me. I'll have
to build alone and build well before I can ask a woman to

256 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
come to Viking's Cove. No, I'll wait till I'm a made man,
with accomplishments to look back on, before I go seeking
a mate. As things are now, I have only begun in my
making. Supper is over and I feel quite resigned to things as they
are. I had roast rabbit, fried potatoes, cheese, bread and
tea, and it was all good, so good that I feel no need of a
cook at all. Queer, how a good meal and a warm place to
sit makes one feel satisfaction with life. My dogs are
curled up at my feet and my little new kitten lies on my
bed purring and looking wonderingly at me. He is black
and has green eyes and I have named him Loki, after the
Norse god of evil doing, for we had several fights on the
way over here from the neighbor's where I got him. He
would not stay in my pocket and he bit my hand to the
bone. Ah, yes, it is good to have a home and family that
loves me.

Haines, Alaska.
Dec. 25, 1916.
I was going to stay on the ranch, spending the first Christ
mas in my home, but yesterday morning a spell of loneliness
overwhelmed me and I changed my mind and made ready to
go to town in a hurry. I got into my good clothes and
my new mackinaw, and was about ready to leave, when a
feeling came over me that I might be gone for a long time.
I thought it was only a silly notion, but I decided it could
do no harm to be prepared, so I packed things away as
if I were going to be gone for the winter and I decided to
take Loki back to his mother to stay while I was gone; I
put him in my pocket and started out.
I wanted to look at the lake before I went, so I walked
out on the ice and looked around. It was very beautiful.
I never look at that scene without marveling over the
beauty of it. Around the lake the wreath of birch and
spruce, and back of that a ring of white, towering peaks.
OH, the magnificent grandeur of it! It was calm and the

THE GIRL AGAIN 257
sky was azure. The air was clean and thin, about five
below zero and its freshness tingled in every fiber of my
body. I felt reluctant to leave and I promised my fairy
land kingdom not to be gone very long as, with my dogs
at my heels, I slowly mushed over the frozen snow toward
town. The trail was ideal, for the snow was frozen hard and
I made town before dinner time. There I met three men
from up the river and spent Christmas Eve with them.
Norse men, they are, and we had a real, old-time Viking
feast, a great big, fat roast goose, stuffed with prunes,
raisins and apples, and everything else that goes to make
a Christmas dinner. We had cakes and pies and preserved
fruits; they drank wine and beer and I drank grape juice
and we told jokes and yarns and roared with laughter till
the whole cabin shook, Haakon, Knud, Einer and I! Oh,
it was a meal and we were as uproariously jolly as any
Vikings ever were. Our talk was partly Swedish, partly
Danish, but mostly our adopted language, but we were
Norsemen this evening. The northlights, shooting in fan
like bars overhead in the starry heavens, the towering moun
tains around and the nearness of the sea, all helped to
make us for the time jolly Norsemen at their feast.
Then we went to church to attend the Christmas tree
celebration, but we were not jolly and noisy there. We
were timid and backward, ready to blush and run if we
should happen, in our uncouth way, to make a mistake.
This morning the boat came in with my Christmas news.
Her letter came and again my plans tumbled and fell
helter skelter about me. My plans for the winter and for
my lonely life on the ranch all toppled over and in their
places rose joy, hope, and exaltation.
"Wake up, man of the north," it read, "you have been
dreaming. I am not married nor engaged to any one and
I am not going to be to any one but you. Maybe this will
be hard for you to believe, but it is true, nevertheless."
Ah, but my heart throbbed as I read those lines and my

258 ALASKA MAN'S LUCK
pent-up lonesome love was let loose in the glorious sun
shine of hope and expectation!
When she realized that I was coming, she had been
afraid of me, the dear, and had ducked for shelter like a
scared rabbit. But soon they both realized that their en
gagement was a farce and had broken it off by mutual
agreement. "But now, Svend Viking, I'm not afraid of you any
more, only a little bit. You see, there are things that are
bigger than being afraid and my caring for you is one of
them." "Svend Viking, come south," she wrote then. "Don't
disregard this call. I have not only poked my head out of
my shell to say this, I have come altogether out of it.
Svend, for the pain I have caused you, oh, I am so sorry,
so very sorry. You have never been far from my thoughts.
I wonder if it is possible for you to understand all this.
If you don't understand, say so, for I'll not blame you. I
want to explain that I am not planning to marry you as
soon as we meet. Nay, not so, but I want to see you and
maybe I have forfeited my right, but — if you knew me
better, you would know that I very seldom ask anything
like this. Somehow, I feel sure that you will come. You
are so very understanding. And now back to the shell."
And then it had a postscript just as a woman's letter
should :
"P. S. Any real woman would be insulted to be asked
to wait and not be allowed to help you build your home."
Can any one wonder that my heart is light and my soul
full of sunshine? Can any one wonder that my plans are
changed and that I am leaving to-morrow for the south,
on the same boat that brought this Christmas letter?
And this is the end of my diary as a bachelor. I feel
assured that when I again open this book to write, I shall
have a mate and we shall write in it together. To-morrow
I am leaving. And next spring I'll be — we'll Be back.

THE GIRL AGAIN 259
Viking's Cove.
May 19, 1917.
The spring is here ! To-day the sun shone warmly from
early, early morning till this late hour, half past nine. It
filled the world up here by Odki's Lake with security and
promise of summer. The birches, alders and willows un
folded their buds and flooded the woods with the soft green
colors that the dryads' clothes are made of. The songbirds
sang from morning till night, the squirrels hustled from
spruce to spruce, talking to one another of the beauty and
the love that the day had brought. When the sun sank be
neath the pearly, studded peaks far to the northwestward,
Marian and I sat up there on the cliff looking down at
Odin's Lake and out over the fiord and the mountain ; and
oh, how beautiful it all was !
This day we did not work. It was a holy day, for the
spring came to-day and we spent most of our time up there
on the cliff, bathed in the warm sunshine and reading this,
my diary. As the golden sun disk disappeared, vanishing
into the north, we sat there hand in hand and thought of
the many perils and unfortunate happenings of these years
we have been apart. Marian sat silent for a long time, but
her hand lay reassuringly in mine. I looked at her golden
glinted hair and her clean innocent face, her trusting hand
lying there in mine, and I wondered if it was right that I,
who had been only so recently in jail, an outlaw and a
desperado, should have her for a mate — this girl who is
so pure and unspoiled and innocent.
She smiled at me as if she guessed my thoughts.
"Do you know what I have been thinking? Everything
here is so pure and fresh and untouched, somehow, that
it seems as if God incarnate might walk among these beauti
ful mountains and up these shining water paths; and that
for that reason, they are all wrapped in joyous, holy silence
that makes man seem very small and inconsequential, and
perhaps even unworthy when he has made mistakes. And
I, wondered if you were thinking of the time when you were

260 ALASKA MAI?5 S LUCK
in jail and that perhaps you did not belong to all this. But
you know, Svend, the mistakes we make are only the steps
along the road to wisdom. You learned so many things
of kindness and of patience and of resignation and of
justice and mercy. Do you remember that dream you
dreamed when I came to you and said, 'All's grist that goes
to the mill' ? That's what I say now, Svend. It is all grist
that goes to the mill."

THE END

'•S*-