The Project Gutenberg eBook of Klondike Nuggets, by E. S. Ellis

"OH, LOOK THERE! ISN'T IT DREADFUL?"

He was pointing out on the lake, and, following the direction of his hand, all saw the answer to his question.

CHAPTER IX.

INTO BRITISH TERRITORY.

All hurried to the side of Roswell, who was pointing to a place a short distance from the raft.

It was the body of a man that they saw, floating face upward. His clothing was good, and the white features, partly hidden by a black beard, must have been pleasing in life. The feet and hands, dangling at the sides, were so low in the water that only when stirred by the waves did they show, but the face rose and fell, sometimes above, and never more than a few inches below, so that it was in view all the time.

The group silently viewed the scene. The body drifted nearer and nearer and faintly touched the edge of the raft, as the wind carried it past. Then it continued dipping, and gradually floated away in the gathering gloom.

"We ought to give it burial," said Frank to Jeff, who shook his head.

"What's the use? We might tow it ashore, dig up a foot of the frozen earth, and set a wooden cross or heap of stones to mark the grave, but the lake is as good a burial-place as it could have."

"I wonder who he could have been," said Roswell thoughtfully. "Some man, no doubt, who has come from his home in the States, thousands of miles away, and started to search for gold. He may have left wife and children behind, who will look longingly for his coming, but will never see his face again."

"The world is full of such sad things," observed Tim McCabe, impressed, like all, with the melancholy incident, and then he expressed the thought that was in the mind of each: "There be five of us: will we all see home again?"

There was no reply. Hardman had not spoken, and, as if the occasion was too oppressive, he sauntered to another part of the raft, while the rest gradually separated, each grave and saddened by what he had witnessed.

It is well for us to turn aside from the hurly-burly of life and reflect upon the solemn fact of the inevitable end that awaits us all.

But the long afternoon was drawing to a close, and the question to be considered was whether the raft should be allowed to drift or land, or they should continue forward, despite a certain degree of danger during the darkness. All were eager to improve the time, and Jeff, as the head of the expedition, said they would keep at it at least for a while longer.

"As far as I can tell," he said, "there's no danger of running into anything that'll wreck us, and we must use our sail while we can. Besides," he added, after testing it, "the water is so deep that we can't reach bottom, and there isn't much chance to help ourselves."

The wind which swept over the raft had risen almost to a gale, and brought with it a few scurrying flakes of snow. There was a perceptible fall in the temperature, and the chilly, penetrating air caused all to shiver, despite their thick clothing.

Finally night closed in, and the raft was still drifting, the wind carrying it four or five miles an hour. The night was so short that the hope was general that the straightforward progress would continue until sunrise, though Tim, who was better acquainted with the region, expressed the belief that a storm of several days' duration had set in.

Since there was nothing to do, the men and boys disposed of themselves as comfortably as possible on the lee side of the raft, beyond reach of the waves, though the spray now and then dashed against their rubber blankets which each had wrapped about his shoulders and body. After a time Jeff took his station at the bow, though an almost imperceptible change of wind caused the structure to drift partly sideways.

Roswell and Frank, who were seated back to back and in an easy attitude, had sunk into a doze, when both were startled by a bump which swung them partly over. They straightened up and looked around in the gloom, wondering what it meant.

"We've struck shore," called Jeff, who was the only one on watch. "The voyage is over for the time."

There was hurrying to and fro, as all perceived that he had spoken the truth. The corner of the raft had impinged against some ice that was piled on the beach. The gloom was too deep for any one to see more than a few rods, so that Tim, who had traversed the sheet of water before, was unable to guess where they were.

"Provided we've come over a straight coorse," said the Irishman, "we can't be far from the fut of the lake."

"We'll know in the morning, which can't be far off," replied Jeff; "we'll make ourselves as comfortable as we can until then."

Despite the wind, they managed to light several matches and examine their watches. To their surprise, the night was nearly gone, and it was decided not to attempt to put up their tent until daylight. Accordingly, they huddled together and spent the remaining hour of gloom in anything but comfort.

At the earliest streakings of light all were astir. Springing from the ground, Tim McCabe hurriedly walked a short way to the northward. The others had risen to their feet and were watching him. As the gray light rapidly overspread the scene, they saw the lake, still tossing with whitecaps, stretching to the south and west, with the shore faintly visible. On the east, north, south, and west towered the snow-capped mountains, with Mount Lotne and other peaks piercing the very clouds. The sun was still hidden, with the air damp, cold, and penetrating.

Tim McCabe was seen to stand motionless for some minutes, when he slowly turned about on his heels and attentively studied the landmarks. Then he suddenly flung his cap high in air, and, catching it as it came down, began dancing a jig with furious vigor. He acted as if he had bidden good-by to his senses.

"Whoop! hurrah!" he shouted, as he replaced his cap and hurried to his friends. "We're at the fut of the lake!"

"WE'RE AT THE FUT OF THE LAKE," SHOUTED TIM.

Such was the fact. A steamer guided by pilot and compass could not have come more directly to the termination of the sheet of water. Tim had cause for rejoicing, and all congratulated themselves upon their good fortune.

"There's only one bad thing about the same," he added more seriously.

"What's that?" asked Jeff.

"We're no longer in the United States."

"That's the fact," said Hardman, "we're in British Columbia."

After all, this was a small matter. Inasmuch as the signs indicated a severe storm, it was decided to stay where they were until its chief fury was spent. The snow was shovelled aside to allow them to reach the frozen earth, into which the stakes were securely driven, and the tent set up, with the stove in position.

Beyond Chilkoot Pass plenty of timber is to be found, consisting of pine, spruce, cottonwood, and birch. Thus far not the first sign of game had been seen. The whole country, after leaving Dyea, is mountainous.

Most of the goods were left on the raft, where they were protected by the rubber sheathing and the secure manner in which they were packed and bound.

Three dreary days of waiting followed, and the hours became so monotonous at times, especially after the hard, active toil that had preceded them, that in some respects it was the most trying period of the memorable journey of our friends from Dyea to Dawson City. The men found consolation in their pipes, which frequently made the air within the tent intolerable to the youngsters. Like most smokers, however, the men never suspected the annoyance they caused, and the boys were too considerate to hint anything of the kind. When their young limbs yearned for exercise, they bolted out of doors, in the face of the driving sleet and fine snow which cut the face like bird-shot. Locking arms, they wrestled and rolled and tumbled in the snow, washed each other's faces, flung the snow about—for it was too dry to admit of being wrought into balls—and when tired out, they came back panting and with red cheeks, showing that their lungs had been filled with the life-giving ozone.

It was necessary now and then to cut fuel from the adjacent wood, and this was done by Tim and Jeff. The boys asked to be allowed to try their hand, but they were too unskilful in wielding an axe, and their request was denied. Now and then the howling gale drove the smoke back into the tent, where it was almost as bad as the odor from the pipes.

The four slept at intervals through the day and most of the long night; but now and then the men laid aside their pipes, the stove "drew," and the atmosphere within was agreeable. The only books in the company were the two pocket Bibles furnished by the mothers of Roswell and Frank. Neither boy forgot his promise to read the volume whenever suitable opportunity presented. Seeing Frank reclining on his blanket, with his little Bible in hand, Jeff asked him to read it aloud, and the boy gladly complied. It was a striking sight, as the men inclined their heads and reverently listened to the impressive words from the Book of Life. There was no jesting or badinage, for that chord which the Creator has placed in every human heart was touched, and responded with sweet music. Many an hour was thus passed—let us hope with profit to every one of the little party.

Finally the longed-for lull in the storm came, and the voyage was renewed. The trip through Caribou Crossing was made without mishap, the distance being about four miles, when they entered Marsh Lake, often known as Mud Lake, though no apparent cause exists for the title. No difficulty was experienced in making their way for the twenty-four miles of its length, at the end of which they debouched into Lynx River, where twenty-seven more miles were passed without incident or trouble worth recording.

CHAPTER X.

AT WHITE HORSE RAPIDS.

"We're doing well," observed Tim McCabe, when the raft with its load and party of gold-seekers reached the end of Lynx River, "but be the same token, we're drawing nigh the worst part of the voyage, and we'll be lucky if we git through the same without mishap."

"What have we ahead?" asked Jeff.

"Miles Cañon; it's a little more than half a mile long, and if this raft isn't as strong as it should be it'll be torn to pieces."

Fortunately Jeff had given attention from the first to the stability of the structure, upon which everything depended. He was continually examining it from stem to stern, and where there was a suspicion of the necessity, he drove nails and strengthened the craft in every way possible.

The sail was used whenever possible; but since they were really among the network of lakes which form the headwaters of the Yukon, the current carried them steadily toward their destination, and there were hours when they scarcely lifted their hands except to keep the raft in proper position by means of the poles. The weather grew steadily milder, for summer was approaching. The snow and ice rapidly melted, and now and then, when the sun shone, the thick clothing felt uncomfortable during the middle of the day. Our friends were in advance of the great multitude that were pushing toward the Klondike from the south, from Canada and to St. Michael's, whence they would start on the two-thousand-mile climb of the Yukon, as soon as it shook off its icy bounds.

It was impossible that the party should not view with solicitude their entrance into Miles Cañon, though Tim assured his friends that much more dangerous rapids would remain to be passed. The cañon is five-eighths of a mile long, with an angry and swift current. Although the raft was tossed about like a cockleshell, it went through without injury, and none of the goods were displaced or harmed.

Following this came the severest kind of work. For three miles it seemed as if the river could be no worse, and the raft must be wrenched asunder. The current was not only very swift, but the channel was filled with rocks. Each man grasped one of the strong poles with which the craft was provided, and wrought with might and main to steer clear of the treacherous masses of stone which thrust up their heads everywhere. There were many narrow escapes, and despite the utmost they could do, the raft struck repeatedly. Sometimes it was a bump and sheer to one side so suddenly that the party were almost knocked off their feet. Once, owing to unintentional contrary work the raft banged against the head of a rock and stood still. While the men were desperately plying their poles the current slewed the craft around, and the voyage was resumed.

THE CURRENT WAS NOT ONLY VERY SWIFT, BUT THE CHANNEL WAS FILLED WITH ROCKS.

"Look out!" shouted Jeff; "there's another rock right ahead!"

Unfortunately it was just below the surface, and there were so many ripples and eddies in the current that neither Tim nor Hardman was sure of its exact location, but taking their cue from the leader, they pushed with all their strength to clear the obstruction.

They failed, and the flinty head swept directly under the logs and gouged its course for the entire length of the craft. All felt the jar, and those who could look beneath the upper deck saw the lower timbers rise from the impact, which was so severe that when the raft at last swung free it was barely moving, but, like a wounded horse, it shook itself clear, and the next moment was plunging forward as impetuously as ever. The fears of the party were intensified by sight of wreckage along the banks, proving that more than one of their predecessors had come to grief in trying to make the passage.

While all were on edge with the danger, however, they found themselves at the end of the perilous passage and floating in comparatively smooth water again. Men and boys drew sighs of relief, the former mopping their perspiring brows and looking their mutual congratulations.

"The fun is only just begun," said Tim McCabe; "we had matters purty lively fur a time, but they'll soon be a good deal livelier."

"What is next due?" asked Frank.

"I belave," said Tim, "that some folks spake of death as riding on a pale horse, don't they?"

"Yes."

"That must be the raison they call the nixt plisure thramp White Horse Cañon, or White Horse Rapids."

"Where are they?"

"But a little way ahid; many men have been drowned in thrying to sail through the same; and him as doesn't know how to swim in a whirlpool hasn't ony business to thry it."

"What, then, do you mean to do?"

"Thry it," was the imperturbable response.

Such talk was not calculated to cheer the listeners, but knowing the Irishman as they did, they received his statement with less seriousness than they should have done, for he had by no means overrated the peril in their front. Jeff made another examination of the raft while he had the opportunity, and strengthened it in every possible way. He was pleased that it stood the test so well, though it had been severely wrenched, and when it crawled over the sunken rock it had narrowly missed being torn asunder. The fastenings of the goods were examined and everything prepared, so far as it could be done, for the crucial trial at hand.

The party were seated in various positions about the raft, looking anxiously ahead, when Tim pointed a little way in advance, with the question:

"Do ye all obsarve that?"

He indicated a high bank of sand on the right which had been cut out by the erosion of the violent current. Near by some philanthropist had put up a sign, "Keep a Good Look Out."

"You have larned what other people think of the same," he added; "there's been more than twinty men drowned in there."

"Because they could not swim?" asked Frank.

"'Cause the best swimmer in the world can't swim in there; you and mesilf, boys, will soon be on the same futting, for the raison that we won't have any futting at all."

"How long is the cañon?"

"Not quite half a mile. Miles Cañon, that we've just passed through, is like a duck-pond alongside the rapids in front of us."

"Can a boat go through?"

"The thing has been done, but only about one in fifty that starts into them rapids ever raiches the outlet, excipt in bits the size of yer hand."

Frank and Roswell looked at each other in consternation. Was it possible that Jeff would allow the criminal recklessness Tim contemplated? Where the chances were so overwhelmingly against success, it was throwing away their lives to trust themselves to the fearful rapids that had already caused so many deaths.

"If you want to try," said Roswell, excitedly, "you may do so, but neither Frank nor I will. Put us ashore!"

He addressed himself to Jeff, who was seated on the edge of the upper deck, calmly smoking his pipe. He did not look around nor seem to hear the appeal.

"Never mind," interposed Frank; "if they are willing, we are not the ones to back out. I know of no law that prevents a man making a fool of himself."

"Very well," replied his cousin, more composedly, "I am ready."

CHAPTER XI.

ON THE YUKON.

Jeff Graham looked inquiringly at Tim McCabe, who nodded his head by way of reply. At the same time he said something to Hardman, and all three rose to their feet. Then the poles were plied with an effect that speedily drove the raft against the bank, where Tim sprang ashore and secured it. Brave and reckless as was the fellow, he had no intention of trying to take the boat through the exceedingly dangerous White Horse Rapids, but he could not refuse the chance for a little amusement at the expense of his young friends.

In truth, no one should ever attempt to take a boat through White Horse Rapids. The best course, perhaps, is to let it drift down the rapids, guided by a rope one hundred and fifty feet in length. If it passes through without material injury, the craft is still at command below. Another plan is to portage. At this writing there are roller-ways on the western side, over which the boats can be rolled with a windlass to help pull them to the top of the hill. In lining a craft, it must be done on the right-hand side. Three miles farther down comes the Box Cañon, one hundred yards in length and fifty feet wide, with a chute of terrific velocity. Repeated attempts have been made by reckless miners to take a boat through, but it is much the same as trying to shoot the rapids below Niagara, and the place has well earned its title of "The Miners' Grave." Still, the feat has been performed in safety.

Progress was so effectually barred at White Horse that our friends gave up their raft as of no further use. It was certain to be shattered, and where there was so much timber it was comparatively easy to build another, with which to make the remaining two hundred and twenty miles, particularly as there was no need of constructing a double-decker, for the rough voyaging was at an end.

The goods were, therefore, packed upon the Yukon sleds, and then the raft set adrift. It was never seen again, though an occasional stray log afterward observed bobbing in the current below the rapids may have formed a part of the structure that had served the travellers so well. There was enough snow for the sleds, but the work was exhausting, and was not completed until late in the afternoon, when the tent was set up and camp made.

By the close of the following day the raft was finished. It contained enough pine lumber to float a much heavier load than formed its burden, but, as we have stated, it lacked the double deck, since the necessity for one no longer existed.

The raft was no more than fairly completed when a storm that had been threatening broke upon the party. Since it was expected, and there was no saying how long it would last, the tent was set up and secured in place. Considerable fuel had been gathered, and every preparation was made for a prolonged stay, though it need not be said that each one hoped it would prove otherwise. In a country where for four-fifths of the days the sun does not show itself, such weather must be expected, and, on the whole, our friends counted themselves fortunate that they had been able to make such good progress.

The tent was hardly in position, and all within, huddling around the stove, in which Tim had just started a fire, when they were startled by a hail:

"Halloa, the house!"

The four hurried outside, where a striking sight met them. Eight men, each with a heavy pack strapped over his shoulders, and bending over with his load, thickly clad, but with their faces, so far as they could be seen through the wrappings, wet and red, had halted in front of the tent, which they scrutinized with wonder.

"Are you going to begin digging here?" called one of the men, whose eyes, nose, and mouth were all that was visible behind his muffler.

"Not while the storm lasts," replied Tim. "If we had room, we'd ask ye to come inside and enj'y yoursilves till the weather clears. At any rate, we'll be glad to give ye something warm to ate and drink."

"Oh, that's it!" exclaimed another of the men. "You're afraid of the storm, are you?"

"We're not much afraid, but we ain't in love with the same. Won't ye come in—that is, one or two at a time?"

"Thanks for your invitation, but we haven't the time to spare. We're afeared they'll get all the gold in the Klondike country if we don't hurry. You're foolish to loiter along the road like this."

"We're willing to lose a bit of the goold for sake of the comfort. If ye are bound to go on, we wish ye good luck."

"The same to yourselves," the plucky and hopeful miners called as they plodded forward.

For two dreary days the party was storm-stayed in camp.

"Here," said Jeff Graham, when making ready to resume their voyage, "we leave our Yukon sleds."

"Shall we not need them on our return?" asked Roswell.

"We should if we returned by this route, but I wouldn't work my way against these streams and through the passes again for all the gold in the Klondike country. We shall take the steamer down the Yukon to St. Michael's, and so on to Seattle."

"That is a long voyage," suggested Hardman.

"Yes, four thousand miles; but it will be easy enough for us when we are on a steamer."

"The Yukon is closed for eight months or more each year."

"We don't intend to go down it when it's closed, for I didn't bring skates along, and I don't know how to skate, anyway."

"You do not expect to stay long in the Klondike country?" was the inquiring remark of Hardman, who showed little interest in the intentions of their leader.

"That depends; we shall come back in two months, or six, or a year, according as to how rich we strike it."

"S'pose you don't strike it at all."

Jeff shrugged his shoulders.

"We'll make a good try for it. If we slip up altogether, these folks I have brought with me won't be any worse off than before; but I don't intend to slip up—that ain't what I came into this part of the world for."

"No, I reckon few people come for that," was the comment of Hardman, who seemed to be in a cheerful mood again.

Nothing could have offered a stronger contrast to their previous rough experience than that which now came to them. Fourteen miles down the river brought them to Lake Labarge, where they had nothing to do but to sit down and float with the current, using the poles occasionally to keep the raft in the best position. Thirty-one miles brought them to Lewis River, down which they passed to the Hootalinqua; then to the Big Salmon, and forty-five miles farther to the Little Salmon, the current running five miles an hour, and much swifter in the narrow cañon-like passages. Then beyond the Little Salmon the craft and its hopeful passengers floated smoothly with the current for a distance of one hundred and twenty miles, when the boys were startled to see four giant buttes of stone towering above the water, which rushed violently among them.

"What place is that?" asked Frank, who with his cousin surveyed the immense towers with deep interest.

"Five-Finger Rapids," was the reply.

"They look dangerous."

"So they be, unless ye happens to know which two to pass between; now, which would ye selict as a guess?"

Roswell and Frank studied them awhile, and the latter answered:

"It doesn't seem to me that it makes much difference which one you take."

"Ah, but it makes a mighty difference. We should have big trouble if we neglicted to folly the right side of the river."

TIM AND JEFF LIT THEIR PIPES; HARDMAN SAT APART.

Jeff and Hardman were already working the raft in that direction, and Tim now gave his aid. It looked perilous, but, knowing the right course, the craft made the passage without any mishap. All settled down to enjoy the smooth sailing that was before them once more. Tim and Jeff lit their pipes, Hardman sat apart, while the boys were together near the front of the raft. The weather was clearer than it had been for several days, and much more moderate. May was well advanced, and the short, hot summer was at hand. If all went well, they would reach the gold country at the right season, and as they neared the goal the spirits of all rose, and a longing to get forward manifested itself in many ways. They waited until night had fairly come before they went ashore and encamped, and they were off again at daybreak, despite the uncannily early hour at which it comes in that part of the world.

Six miles down the Lewis River took them to the Rink Rapids, through which they passed without difficulty. Just beyond are the ruins of Fort Selkirk, where the Pelly and Lewis rivers unite. Tim McCabe studied the mouth of the Pelly, as it poured into the Lewis, and soon as the point was fairly passed, he turned to his friends, his round face aglow.

"I offer me congratulations," he said, doffing his cap and bowing low.

"On what?" asked Frank Mansley.

"The stream over which ye are now floating takes the name of the Yukon, and doesn't give up the same till it tumbles into the Pacific siveral miles to the west of us."

"Several miles!" repeated Frank; "it must be three thousand."

"Something like that, I belave. The worst part of our journey is behind us."

"How far are we from Juneau?"

"To be exact, which I loikes to be, it is five hundred and tin miles."

CHAPTER XII.

AT DAWSON CITY.

Naturally the route over which the little party of gold-seekers were journeying steadily improved. The Yukon, like many other great rivers of the world, comes into being a lusty, vigorous infant, the junction of the Lewis and Pelly making it a stream of considerable proportions from the moment it takes its name.

Other gold-hunters were seen from time to time, and there were pleasant exchanges and greetings with most of them. It was the custom of Jeff Graham to keep going so long as daylight lasted, when the raft was worked into shore and an encampment made. For a time the old miner kept his Winchester within immediate reach, hoping to gain sight of some deer or wild game, but as day after day and night after night passed without the first glimpse of anything of the kind, he gave up in disgust.

"It's the most villainous country on the face of the earth," he said, as he lit his pipe at the evening fire. "If it wasn't for the gold that we know is here, no decent man would stay over night in it. Frank, tell me something about the confounded country."

"Me!" replied the boy, with a laugh. "I don't know half as much as you and Tim."

"Yes, you do. Tim don't know anything more than the best way to travel through the mountains and across the lakes."

The Irishman took his pipe from between his lips to offer protest against this slur, but changed his mind, and resumed smoking, though his eyes twinkled.

"A man that takes a lot of gold out of the ground and then lets a thief steal it isn't fit to go alone."

"Which is why I've provided mesilf with a chap that knows it all," said Tim, not the least offended, though Hardman scowled, for the remark was a pointed reflection upon him; but he held his peace.

"What about the Injins here?" pursued Jeff, addressing the boys; "they're different from ours in Californy."

Frank had no wish to air his knowledge, but he replied:

"I have read that the natives belong to the red and yellow races—that is, the Indian and Mongolian. There are two stocks of Indians—the Thlinkets and the Tenneh. There are only a few Thlinkets, and they live along the coast. That old Indian who ferried us over Lake Lindeman is a Tenneh, as are the natives of the interior. You may not think they are much like our Indians, but they belong to the Chippewayan family, the same as the Apaches, who have caused so much trouble in Mexico and Arizona."

"That has been my 'pinion," said Tim, who now heard the fact for the first time; "and the raison why the Alaska redskins ain't as bad as the Apaches is 'cause the weather is so cold it freezes up all the diviltry in them."

"Roswell," continued Jeff, who was proud to show off the learning of his young friends, "why do they call the Eskimos that name?"

"The name, which means those who eat raw flesh, was given to them by the Indians. They call themselves Aleuts, or Innuits. The Innuits are the same as the Eskimos of Greenland and the Arctic regions, while the Aleuts belong to Alaska, the long, narrow peninsula which extends southwesterly from the mainland and the Aleutian Islands, that look like a continuation of the peninsula. As for the climate, temperature, and size of Alaska, you and Tim know as much as we do," said Roswell, who disliked as much as his cousin to seem to display his knowledge.

"Why not be modest," gravely asked Tim, "and say that ye knows almost as much as Mr. McCabe, leaving Mr. Graham out of the quistion, be the token that he knows nothing at all, and I'm afeard will niver larn?"

"As you please," replied Roswell; "you and Jeff may settle that between you."

"And ther's nothing to sittle, as me mither used to obsarve whin she looked into the impty coffee-pot; Jiff won't pretind that he knows anything of this country so long as he is in the prisence of mesilf."

"Very true," gravely replied the old miner; "but if I do scoop in any gold, I think I'll know 'nough to shoot any man that tries to steal it."

As he spoke he darted a glance at Hardman, who was sitting a little back from the fire, also smoking, but glum and silent. The boys wondered why Jeff should make these pointed references, when he had never hinted anything of the kind before, but the old miner had a purpose in mind. While not seeming to pay any special attention to Hardman, he had studied him closely for the past few days, and felt little doubt that he was planning mischief. The words, therefore, that Jeff uttered were meant as a warning to the rogue of what he might expect if he attempted any crooked work.

No further reference was made to the unpleasant subject, although Jeff and Tim chaffed each other for a long time, even after the boys had wrapped themselves in their blankets and lain down to sleep. No watch was set, as would have been the case had they been journeying through a wild part of their own country, for there was nothing to be feared from wild animals or Indians. The only being whom Jeff and the boys distrusted was a member of their own company, and they did not believe he would do anything wrong until after the party had secured something worth the risk on his part.

Deprived of many of the comforts of home and a mother's care, it did not take the boys long, under the tutelage of the older ones, to attend to their own wants. Roswell and Frank soon learned how to sew on a button and do the mending which their garments occasionally required. They washed their clothing and kept themselves in better form than do many men when placed in a similar situation.

With the weather growing more summery and hardly a bit of ice in the river, the raft glided down the Upper Yukon. Ninety-eight miles from the head of the Yukon, the craft passed the mouth of the Milk River, and in this case the party saw the appropriateness of the name, for its water has a perceptible whitish color.

A goodly distance remained to be passed, for it was ten miles to Stewart River, and twenty-five more to Fort Ogilvie, where they spent the night. They were now nearing their journey's end, and all showed a peculiar agitation, such as is natural when we feel ourselves close upon the solution of a problem that has baffled us for a long time.

One form of this emotion was the impatience to get forward faster than before. There was nothing of the feeling when leaving Seattle or Juneau or Dyea, nor did they experience it to any degree while toiling through the hundreds of miles from lake to lake and down the upper waters of the streams which help to form the Yukon.

Roswell and Frank were grateful for one blessed fact—they were stronger and in more rugged health than ever in their lives. When making their way through the passes and helping to drag the sleds, they felt more than once like giving up and turning back, though neither would have confessed it; but now they were hopeful, buoyant, and eager. They had sent the last letter which they expected to write home for a long time upon leaving Dyea, where they bade good-by to civilization.

The afternoon was young when the raft drifted into a portion of the Yukon which expanded into a width of two miles, where it was joined by another large stream. On the eastern shore loomed a straggling town of considerable proportions.

"Tim," said Frank, suspecting the truth, "what place is that?"

"Frinds," replied Tim, vainly trying to conceal his agitation, "that town is Dawson City, and the river flowing into ours is the Klondike. Ye have raiched the goold counthry, which, being the same, I rispictfully asks ye all to jine mesilf in letting out a hurrah which will make the town trimble and the payple open their eyes so wide that they won't git them shet agin for a wake to come. Are ye riddy? Altogither!"

AND THE THREE CHEERS WERE GIVEN WITH A WILL.

And the cheers were given with a will.

CHAPTER XIII.

ON THE EDGE OF THE GOLD-FIELDS.

The little party of gold-seekers had every cause to congratulate themselves, for after a journey of nearly two thousand miles from Seattle, through wild passes, dangerous rapids and cañons, over precipitous mountains, amid storm and tempests, with their lives many a time in peril, half frozen and exhausted by the most wearisome toil, they had arrived at Dawson City, in the midst of the wonderful gold district of the Northwest, all without mishap and in better condition than when they left home.

The boys, in roughing it, had breathed the invigorating ozone and gained in rugged health and strength. Youth and buoyant spirits were on their side, and their muscles, which would have become flabby in the unwholesome atmosphere of a store, were hardened, and their endurance and capacity for trying work immeasurably increased. There are thousands of men to-day enjoying life, without an ache or pain, who owe their splendid condition to the campaigning they underwent in the war for the Union. If that terrific struggle swept multitudes into their graves, it brought the balm of strength and health to many more, who otherwise would not have lived out half their days.

The trying experience of Jeff Graham in his youth and early manhood did this service for him. It was not strange, therefore, that he with his iron muscles bore the strain better than any of his companions. He seemed to be tireless, and his sturdy strength often put others to shame. He had never sapped his constitution by dissipation; and it may be said that the severe hardships of that journey from Dyea through Chilkoot Pass and the wild regions about the Upper Yukon confirmed that which already existed within his splendid make-up. As for Roswell Palmer and Frank Mansley, their excellent home training, not denying credit to the grim old miner for his wise counsel, had held them free from the bad habits which too often make boys effeminate and weak and old before their time. Gifted by nature with the best of constitutions, they had strengthened rather than undermined them. Neither had known an hour's illness throughout the long, laborious journey, and they were in the best condition possible for the great task that now confronted them.

As for Tim McCabe and Ike Hardman, their weakness lay in yielding to the temptation to drink. No such temptation appeared on the road, and their enforced temperance had the best effect. Tim was less disposed to drink than the other, but, sad to say, he indulged at times. Hardman's ideal was to obtain the means for doing nothing and minister to his base appetites.

It was in 1887 that Dr. George M. Dawson, the leader of an exploring expedition sent by the Canadian Government into the Yukon district, made a report confirming the presence of gold in vast quantities throughout that section. The principal mining camp established there was named in his honor. It faces on one of the banks of the Yukon River, along which it extends for about a mile. It has a sawmill, stores, and churches of the Baptist, Presbyterian, Methodist, and Roman Catholic denominations. Being the headquarters of the Canadian Northwest mounted police, it is one of the best-governed towns on the American continent. At the time of our friends' arrival its population was about four thousand, but the rush will swell it in an incredibly short while to ten, twenty, and possibly fifty times that number, for beyond question it is the centre of the most marvellous gold district that the world has ever known.

Copper, silver, and coal are found in large quantities, but no one gives them a thought when so much of the vastly more attractive yellow metal is within reach. It is singular that while the existence of gold was incontestably known for many years, little or no excitement was produced until 1896 and 1897, when the whole civilized world was turned almost topsy-turvy by the bewildering reports. During the first three months of the latter year more than four million dollars were taken from a space of forty square miles, where a few placer claims were worked. What harvest will be during the next few years no man dare attempt to guess. How suggestive the fact that on one stream so much of the metal has been found that it was given the name "Too Much Gold Creek!"

Inasmuch as our friends are now on the ground, a few more facts are proper, in order to understand the task that confronted them. Dawson City, it will be remembered, is in British territory, and all the great discoveries of gold have been made to the east of that town. Doubtless gold will be gathered in Alaska itself, but the probabilities are that the richest deposits are upon Canadian soil.

The mining claims begin within two and a half miles of Dawson City, on the Klondike, and follow both sides of that stream into the interior, taking in its tributaries like Hunker's Creek, Gold Bottom, Last Chance, Bear Creek, Bould's Bonanza, and El Dorado. Of these the richest are El Dorado, Gold Bottom, Hunker, and the oddly named Too Much Gold Creek. The last is the farthest from Dawson City, and the least known; but there can be no question that numerous other streams, at present unvisited, are equally rich, and will be speedily developed.

Just now placer mining is the only method employed. According to the mining laws of the Northwest, the words "mine," "placer mine," and "diggings" mean the same thing, and refer to any natural stratum or bed of earth, gravel, or cement mined for gold or other precious mineral. There is very little quartz mining, or crushing of rocks, as is practised in many sections of California. This requires expensive machinery, and little necessity for it seems to exist in the Klondike. In placer mining the pay dirt is washed by the simplest methods, such as were practised in California during the pioneer days.

Everything was hurry and bustle at Dawson City on that day, late in May, when our friends arrived. It was a noticeable fact that the date of their arrival was exactly two months after the boys kissed their parents good-by in San Francisco.

Tim McCabe had gathered much practical knowledge during his experience in this region, while Jeff had not forgotten what he passed through "in the days of '49," to which wisdom he had added, as opportunity presented, while on the way to the Klondike. When the party had eaten together at the principal hotel and the men had lit their pipes in a group by themselves, a surprise came. The old miner smoked a minute or two in silence, and then turned to Hardman, who was sitting a little apart, moody and reserved.

"Ike," said he, "I've stood by you all the way from Juneau, hain't I?"

The fellow looked wonderingly at him, as did the others, none suspecting what was coming.

"In course," was the gruff reply of Hardman; "we all stood by one another, fur if we hadn't we wouldn't stood at all."

"You've got to Dawson City without it costing you a penny, haven't you?"

"There hain't been much chance to spend money since we left Dyea," replied Hardman with a grin.

Jeff was nettled by this dodging of the issue; but he kept his temper.

"And if there had been you hadn't a dollar to spend onless you kept back some of that which you stole from Tim."

"I don't see the use of your harping on that affair," said Hardman angrily. "I've owned up, and am going to make it all right with Tim. It's none of your business, anyway, and I don't want to hear any more of it."