At this time Linderman's shores were the scene of much bustle; many intending voyagers were building their boats in feverish haste, for they knew that the elements must soon lay firm grip on the waters, and render their work useless.

Major Walsh, the Canadian Administrator of the Yukon Territory, had just made his appearance from over the Skagway trail, and he was all eagerness to proceed. He immediately bought—at fabulous prices—the boats that were built, and, without a day's delay, set sail northwards with his staff.

Two days after the Major's departure, I succeeded in purchasing a twenty-feet "Dorie" from a disheartened miner who had decided to return to Dyea, and wait for the ensuing spring.

I need not detail our journeyings for the next few days. Linderman was sailed over within two hours, then the half-mile porterage between it and Lake Bennet was accomplished after much labour. This latter lake is twenty-eight miles in length, its northern extremity narrowing down to a deep and swift-flowing channel, which extends but a few hundred yards before expanding into a broad, shallow lake or lagoon, colloquially known as "Caribou Crossing." The current here is sluggish, and the water abounds in shoals and sandbanks, which at that time were a sore trial to the adventuresome navigator with his precious freight of flour and other necessaries.

Tagash Lake forms the next link in the great lake chain of the Yukon, and it stretches full twenty-nine miles, then contracting to a fierce-flowing stream by which the Canadian Customs Offices are now stationed.

Beyond this is Marsh Lake, and here it was that our troubles began.

Not a breath of wind stirred the waters of the lake, and our crudely-built dorie, containing 1,000 pounds of flour and 1,000 pounds of miscellaneous foodstuffs, ploughed slowly through the wide expanse to the accompaniment of much wheezing and groaning of oars, and an endless string of forcible expletives that burst from the lips of my stalwart companions, who provided the motive power of the ungainly craft. The favouring wind had died away, and, unaided by the sails, we could make but little headway over the still water. The weather had become strangely cold considering the earliness of the season, and I was almost benumbed as I sat in the steersman's perch, directing the course by sundry sweeps of a great-bladed Indian paddle, which I wielded with both hands.

"Keep it up, boys," I encouraged. "We are more than half-way through the lake."

"Twa miles an 'oor," grunted Mac between his efforts. "This is the worst boat I ever pulled."

Stewart, his companion, another brawny Scot who had joined me at Dyea, rested his oar for a moment to breathe a sympathetic swear word of much intensity; then together they bent to their labours, and the rasp of the oars, and the brief swish of the eddying pools created, alone broke the deadly quiet.

Towards nightfall I was surprised to notice here and there large sheets of ice on the lake surface, and occasionally our heavily-laden boat would grind against these obstacles, shouldering them off with much effort: then my oarsmen's long sweeps would rend and split them as they passed alongside.

It was very plain that the Yukon headwaters were fast freezing over.

"We'll have to keep going all night, boys," I said, "for we'll be ice jammed if we camp anywhere around here."

The fierce torrent issuing from the end of the lake and rushing towards the dread White Horse Rapids would in all probability be free from ice—if we could reach that far.

Strenuously my companions pulled at their oars. The gloom deepened, then the stars came out, and by their feeble light I could distinguish far ahead a scintillating field of ice.

The sight caused me almost to despair—we had been sailing since early morning, and were tired and very hungry.

Before I could get the head of our boat turned inshore, it had crashed through several flaking sheets, and immediately after I realised that we were hopelessly in an ice maze from which there seemed no exit.

"We'll gang straight on," said Mac, with determination, and he levered powerfully with his oar against the frosted masses.

A quarter of an hour passed, then the up-turning stem of the dorie went thud against an immovable barrier, and I knew that we were indeed ice-jammed beyond the possibility of forcing a passage with the oars. Nor could we return, for the ice-pack we had negotiated for miles was now seemingly welded together in one solid mass.

Cautiously Mac put his moccasined foot over the prow and bore heavily on the glittering ice; it neither strained nor yielded.

With a fervent malediction he jumped on "shore," and felt the edge of the sheet.

"It's mair than twa inches," he said sorrowfully. "Hoo can we get through this?"

Very sadly we got out of our boat, and, taking the cooking utensils, the tent, and some flour and coffee, sought a sheltered spot among the dense timber on the lake side. Soon we had almost forgotten our woes, and were regaling ourselves with copious draughts of coffee and much hard damper.

From our tent door we could see our boat stuck fast amid the ice. How we were to get it free I could not well imagine. In the morning, however, we awoke with renewed energy and more hopeful hearts.

"We cannot have far to go, boys," I said. "We'll cut down a couple of trees and use them to break a passage."

After breakfast we lost no time in making the effort. Armed with the heavy logs, we re-embarked, and soon the ponderous hammers had begun their work and a passage was slowly made towards the Yukon. With great reluctance our boat moved ahead, leaving a trail of glittering ice boulders. Mac leaned over the bow and opened the channel, while Stewart and I belaboured the masses that closed in on either side.

About midday we neared the end of the lake, and the channel beyond appeared a rippling, crackling flood of jagged ice-floes.

We felt the suction of the current long before we had reached the limit of the ice-field. The sheets became thinner and broke away readily, so that the oars came again into play, and we crashed onward impetuously on the bosom of an irresistible stream.

At last we were free, and our boat dashed madly into the narrow egress, bumping, grinding, and rocking against the detached fragments of ice that appeared everywhere.

With a great effort we managed to slow our craft before coming into contact with a sharp jutting rock that reared high in the middle of the stream, and then we found that it required all our energies to evade the miniature icebergs that rushed alongside. These floating dangers looked harmless enough, yet they were fully six inches deep in the water, and contact with them would result in much damage to the planks of our dorie. Several times, indeed, we were almost overturned by colliding with unusually large floes.

In another hour we had nearly navigated the extent of Miles's canyon, and only several hundred yards ahead I noticed Major Walsh's flotilla, buffetting the seething waters cumbrously, while the men at the oars strained every muscle to escape the perils that abounded in their course.

"We're not far away from the White Horse, boys," I said to my sturdy henchmen, who were working away like galley slaves. They ceased their labours for a moment to look round, and at once our vessel swung about and drifted dangerously near the rocky river steeps.

"We maun keep a way on her," said Stewart.

"Let's ken when we're through," said Mac, and their oars cleft the water like the paddle floats of a fast river steamer.

The current was flowing at the rate of ten miles an hour, and to keep a steering way on our unwieldy barge was, as may be understood, no easy matter.

Frantically I swung my paddle and strove my utmost to avert the calamity that every moment seemed to threaten us.

We were rapidly gaining on Major Walsh's outfit. He had four boats in all, three of them being clumsy barges laden entirely with provisions. These latter were manned by several members of the North-West Mounted Police, who worked their oars from difficult-looking perches among the flour sacks.

The police boats, however, steered a very erratic course, sometimes being carried forward almost on their beam ends. I guessed that the heavily freighted craft had become unmanageable; certainly the steersmen seemed to have no control. Yet I had little time to notice those ahead, for our own "clipper" required every attention.

"Keep her going, boys," I yelled, as I worked my steering paddle with a will, evading rocks, boulders, and ice floes in turn.

Suddenly the white dashing surf of the Rapids came into view, the river narrowed to a fraction of its former width, and over the cataract a jagged sea of the dangerous floes crackled and roared into the abyss beyond.

I saw the Major's first boat fly like an arrow from the bow into the heart of the boiling foam; it careened dangerously on taking the sweep, then righted itself and disappeared into the flying mists.

"Steady, Mac!" I cried, as our craft entered the race. The dense spray almost obscured the great deflecting rock, and we rushed seemingly to destruction.

Then, before my eyes, there appeared an awful spectacle. Faster than I can write the words—one, two, three—each of Major Walsh's three boats reared high in the sleety mist and overturned one after the other as they took the curve.

"Let her go, boys," I bellowed. "Bend to it." The crucial moment had arrived; we were enveloped in foam, and were dashing straight towards the torrent-deflecting bluff. I leaned far back over the stern of our half-submerged boat, and with a mighty stroke of the paddle swung her head round, and we grazed death by barely half a dozen inches.

A moment more and we were floating in almost placid waters. Beside us bobbed three smashed boats. Major Walsh stood sorrowfully on shore assisting dripping men from the water.

"It's all over, boys," I said to my crew; "you can ease off now," and I steered for the beach and lent my aid in the work of rescue.

The half-drowned Canadians were dragged ashore gasping and almost senseless, and while we scanned the grim waters anxiously for a trace of one still missing, his body was tossed at our feet by the relentless waves. Soon after, the sand was littered with sacks of flour, and beans, and miscellaneous foodstuffs.

Several camps were in evidence around this melancholy spot, erected by men who had lost their all in the rapids, and were only waiting a chance to return to civilisation. They eagerly accepted the Major's offer to purchase their scanty outfits, and without loss of time that intrepid old Indian fighter had embarked again for the north. To him it was a race with the elements, but the elements won after all, and compelled him to make his winter camp at Big Salmon River, forty miles further north, where we overtook him a few days later.

"It's no use my lads, you can't do it!" he said, on my reiterating my intention of proceeding onwards. "Why, the river's frozen solid from here to St. Michael's."

"Then we'll put skids under the old boat and make her into a sledge," quoth Mac, drily, and I hailed the suggestion with encouragement.

We duly arrived at Dawson City after many days and weeks of ceaseless struggle with the elements on that long and terrible icy trail, and our coming was received with rejoicings by the few half-starved miners who at that time peopled the "City." We had proved the feasibility of an over-ice route to Dyea.

THE LAND OF THE THRON-DIUCKS

The Klondike Valley in that winter was the scene of many stirring incidents. Owing to the non-arrival of the Canadian Government Commissioner and his police no law or order prevailed. To make matters worse the utmost bitterness existed between the Canadian and American sections of the community, each of whom claimed the rich gold-bearing territory as being within their country's boundary. Quarrels more or less serious were consequently of every-day occurrence. However, the following incident involves no harrowing description of these fierce skirmishes—though it might have led to a most sanguinary encounter with the true owners of the land.

Accompanied by "Cap." Campbell and "Alf" Mackay, two well-known miners, my party set out on a prospecting expedition into the mountains flanking the upper reaches of the Klondike River. We had one dog, a powerful mastiff, named Dave, which had proved an invaluable companion to me on our earlier prospecting journeys. Previous to this we had been very successful in our quest for the yellow metal, having located three creeks rich in the precious golden sand. But our eagerness seemed likely to cost us dear, for our store of foodstuffs had become wonderfully small, and we were many days' journey from our camp on Skookum Gulch, where were our headquarters.

The return journey proved to be more difficult than we had anticipated; the weather had been very severe for the last few days, and the snow on the hillside was hard and dangerously slippery.

"We'll try a short cut over the mountains, boys," said Mackay, as we strove vainly to reach the frozen river far beneath.

The Klondike takes many twists in its erratic course, and it so happened that if we could cross a mountain spur we should strike the trail only a few miles from Eldorado Creek.

"We'll make the attempt," I said, and Mac and Stewart concurred with emphatic ejaculations. One sleigh carried the possessions of the whole party, and it was tugged along by our combined efforts, including the assistance of Dave, who struggled in his harness in the leader's position. At last we surmounted the great glacier-capped ridge and gingerly made a trail through a narrow ice-bound gulch issuing from the crystal dome and marking a long line of gigantic ice boulders far into the wooded slopes beyond.

We slid, and clambered, and buffeted with the snow wreaths and intervening ice fields for over an hour, and then the gully led us across a thickly-timbered flat well sheltered from the elements by the surrounding mountains. At this stage we were, to judge by the lay of the country, but a few miles from the main channel; but the afternoon was far advanced and darkness was quickly closing over the valley, so that further progress was rendered difficult. We were looking about for a suitable camping ground when Mac, who had been closely examining the landscape, gave a howl of delight. "Injuns!" he roared, "I see Injun hooses!" Sure enough there appeared, nestling among the drooping pines, a straggling array of Indian huts and several totem poles. Before I could restrain them, my henchmen dropped their sleigh ropes and rushed impetuously towards the supposed settlement, but their moccasined feet stuck deeply in the soft snow under the trees, and, using my snowshoes to good effect, I succeeded in rounding up the doughty pair before they had gone far.

"It's an Indian village," I explained, "and not a circus."

"I ken weel what it is," indignantly howled Mac. "Hiv I no seen Injuns afore? When I wis oot on the pampas o' Sooth America—"

But I listened no further, and Stewart condoled with his comrade in well chosen words of sympathy.

"This is nae country for us, Mac," said he. "A lot o' Injun hooses, wi'—wi' chunks o' caribou hangin' inside, an' we maunna touch them!" He almost wept at the thought.

"Howlin' blazes, boys!" shouted the Captain, "them Injuns'd make ye into mince pies at oncet; ye wur committin' sooicide!"

But Mackay smiled broadly and winked reassuringly at Mac, whereupon that gentleman began to chuckle audibly.

"We've nae floor, an' nae bacon, an' nae beans—nae naething," he said meaningly. "If you have no 'jeckshuns,'" added Mackay, addressing me with much deliberation, "we'll camp a leetle furrer down."

I had no objections whatever. If I had, it might not have mattered much, for my warlike retainers seemed on the verge of mutiny. So we proceeded on our way, cautiously and silently, keeping in the densest shadows, and as far distant from the village as we could conveniently get.

Ten minutes later our tent was fixed and our camp fire blazing brightly; and Stewart, with a lugubrious countenance, busied himself preparing the last of our hoarded stores. Our fare was certainly meagre and unsatisfying, and unfortunately the keen air had given us extremely healthy appetites. I am inclined to think, when I recall the matter, that my share, as doled out by Stewart, with many a sigh at its diminutive proportions, was unnecessarily meagre, and purposely served so by that wily individual in order to destroy any conscientious scruples I might have. If that was his purpose it succeeded admirably, for when my humble repast was finished I felt hungrier than ever, and had not the ghost of a scruple left.

"Talkin' about Injun villages," began Mackay, when the cooking utensils had been cleared away, "I've niver seen wan yet that hadn't a winter storehouse of dried salmon and cariboo somewheres handy."

"Ye're a man efter ma ain heart," beamingly interrupted Mac, and Stewart murmured: "Dried cariboo!" and smacked his lips.

"As I was discoursin'," continued Mackay, "them Injuns hiv always got rations hid away in their wigwams."

"Likewise a few tommy-hawks an' an assortment o' clubs," grimly edged in the Captain.

No one seemed anxious to say anything in a direct sort of way, although the general meaning was plain enough.

"To cut it short, boys," I ventured to remark, "you are in favour of visiting the village to-night?"

"Fur reasons which it ain't necessary to shout out loud—precisely," answered Mackay.

After that further speech was superfluous, and we made hurried preparations for our marauding journey. The Indians at this time were very hostile towards the white invaders of their country, and there was little reason to hope that they would either barter or sell any of their stores to us. There is a proverb which states that "necessity knows no law," and as we were in rather a sad plight we agreed with it to the letter; there may have been room for some slight condonation of our errors of reason at such a time. About eight o'clock that night we sallied out, leaving Mac with the dog in charge of the sleigh, with instructions to clear out lively should he hear a revolver shot. The worthy Mac was much disgusted with his lot, and gave vent to his annoyance in no stinted terms.

"It wis ma idee at first," he grumbled, "an' it's gey hard fur a man tae be sacrifeeced tae wait here a' the time."

"You've got the healthiest job, my friend," said the Captain, "an' you ought to be durned well pleased."

The moon shone brilliantly, illuminating the open snow patches and shooting down through the heavy foliage myriad rays of dancing light. I remember well how we had hoped for darkness, and how nervously we crept along seeking the shelter of the deepest shadows. A death-like stillness reigned; the thermometer in camp had registered 37 degrees below zero, and we knew that the mercury would keep falling till midnight. Our faces were quickly framed in icicles, and a thin dazzling frost draped us from head to foot. We presented truly ghost-like figures, but we were too much engrossed with other matters to notice our strange appearance. Soon we arrived within sight of the village, and stealthily we manœuvred from tree to tree until we were but a few yards distant from the largest logged structure. And still not a sound was heard; the frosted edifices showed no sign of life within.

"Seems to me we're in luck," chuckled Mackay, gazing on the desolate scene with evident enjoyment. "The population has evidently gone out huntin' bear or moose deer, or some sich quodroo-ped, and thar shid therefore be no call fur any skirmish. Put up your guns, boys," he added, "there's nary soul in the village."

We were all greatly relieved at this, yet it was with a feeling of deep humiliation that I approached the most imposing of the houses and began to investigate the best and surest means of forcing an entry. I had seen a few Indian buildings in my travels, but this one was unlike any design I had ever witnessed. There appeared to be two heavily-barricaded wooden windows in the usual places, but search as we might, no door could be found.

"We'll try another," said Mackay, loath to acknowledge that the peculiar structure was beyond his comprehension. We examined each one—there were six in all—but they were alike in every particular, save that the one which had first received our attention was larger than the others, and had a very imposing totem pole in its foreground.

"The first was the most likely, boys," I said, "we'll go back to it." And back we went.

Stewart was now working up something approaching a righteous wrath against the "heathen sort o' buildin's." "I'll shin mak' a door," he said, with emphasis, bracing his shoulders; then something caught his eye on the rough planking walls, and he beckoned to me mysteriously before applying his energy towards their demolition.

"What is it?" asked Mackay impatiently.

"Come and hold a match," I said. He did so, while I laboriously spelled out a series of Chinook characters which had evidently been cut deep into the wood through the agency of some sharp instrument, most probably a tomahawk. The result was rather mystifying, for, translating into English, I read twelve names ending with the words, "Chief of the Thron-Diucks." Eleven of the names were simply unpronounceable, but the last entry had a decidedly English appearance; it required no translation, and read: "King James the First, Chief of the Thron-Diucks."

"We've struck the King's house," said Mackay with a laugh. "The old skunk and I hev niver agreed, so I hope he doesn't come along now."

"I thought he called himself 'James the Second,'" said the Captain slowly.

But Stewart would wait no longer. "Staun clear, a'm comin'!" he cried, and his voice rang with shivering distinctness through the air. With a short rush he threw himself against the wooden barrier; the stout timbers bent and quivered, but resisted the shock, and from within came a harsh, tearing sound, terminating in a muffled crash, as of something falling heavily. Again and again Stewart acted as a battering ram, but only vague echoes rewarded his efforts; the logs were evidently unusually firmly founded. The noises created by these various onslaughts—and ultimately we had simultaneously applied all our energies without avail—had a most demoralising effect upon us, and after each attack we waited breathlessly until the echoes had died away. Assuredly, if the Indians were within several miles of us, they could not fail to hear the diabolical din we were creating.

We had been over an hour at our depredating labours, and I was beginning to wish I had never sanctioned the expedition; then the indefatigable Stewart made a discovery. We had hitherto neglected to examine the barricaded holes which seemingly served as windows, deeming them too securely fastened for our nefarious purpose; they were closed from the inside, and were too high in any case to be within reach of Stewart's impetuous shoulder, but now our strong man had but lightly pressed the window-guard, and behold! it swung open. His hearty "hurroo" drew my attention.

"For heaven's sake shut up!" I whispered angrily. But Mackay made even more noise by exploding into a loud laugh, which resounded weirdly over the tree-tops.

"Good fur you, Stewart!" he cried; "now we're right."

The Captain, like myself, was not very enthusiastic over our night's exploit. "Let's get it over quickly, boys," he said. "Give me a lift-up, Stewart." But Stewart had reserved to himself the honour of first entry, and was even then dangling midway through the aperture, and squirming his way forward vigorously. The opening was very small, not more than two feet square, and as I watched my companion scrambling in, I thought that if the level of the floor was lower than the surface without, which is usually the case with Indian huts, considerable difficulty might be experienced in making an exit! Stewart, however, was apparently troubled by no unpleasant anticipations, and soon a crash, followed by an ejaculation of much fervour, heralded his arrival on the other side of the stoutly-timbered wall.

"Are you there?" cried Mackay, preparing to follow.

"Whaur did ye think a wis?" came the somewhat surly reply, and the doughty warrior's voice sounded almost sepulchral as it floated out of the darkness. Then he added enticingly, "Come in, ma man, come in, an' bring a licht wi' ye, fur it's pitch dark, an' an' awfu' smelliferous." To me the insinuating tone of my comrade's voice sounded suspicious, but neither Mackay nor the Captain noticed anything unusual.

"I'll be with you in a jiff, Stewart, old man," said the former gentleman, vainly striving to get his head and shoulders through the aperture. But his body was somewhat rotund and made rather a tight fit in the narrow entrance. "Push, ye beggars!" he gasped, and the Captain and I went to his assistance, only to see him jerk suddenly forward and disappear with a clatter inside, while Stewart's voice spluttered out in firm protest, "Come awa' in, ma man, an' dinna block up the ventilator." For some minutes longer I waited in suspense, while Mackay struck match after match and spoke never a word, and Stewart kept up a continual flow of mysterious grunts and sundry forcible expletives. I had a small piece of candle in my pocket, and this I lit; then, with the Captain's aid, I thrust my head through the window and surveyed the interior. Mackay quickly seized the piece of tallow from my hand, and held it aloft, and then I saw what had baffled the usually fluent descriptive powers of the worthy Stewart and his fiery companion. The room was bare save for the presence of several shelves roughly built up in the centre of the floor and reaching almost to the roof, and on each of these shelves a massive oblong box rested, the sides of which were heavily inlaid with silver or some similar metal. The whole structure presented an appearance not unlike a Chinese pagoda in miniature; the meaning of the arrangement was more than I could understand. The noises which we had at first heard had evidently been occasioned by the uppermost cases falling from their resting-places, for Stewart was examining with much interest one of several of the strange receptacles which were lying on the heavily-logged floorway. As I gazed in mute wonder on the extraordinary scene, I was quickly made aware that a wonderfully-powerful odour pervaded the room. It assailed my nostrils and my eyes, causing me to choke and blink, and finally withdraw my head into the pure air.

"It's the thickest perfume I've iver struck," groaned Mackay, and he staggered against the weird-looking pagoda.

I heard a shuffling rattle, and looking in a second time, saw the spidery monument sway, then fall with a dull hollow crash, scattering its curious freight in all directions. At the same time a yell from Stewart all but shattered my little remaining nerve, and he came leaping wildly across the fallen boxes towards the narrow egress.

"A'm comin' oot!" he bellowed; then Mackay, forcing up behind, and making strenuous endeavours to preserve his usual sangfroid, said weakly, "I guess I need a breath of air also, boys."

To make matters worse, the Captain, who had been warily prospecting around, now came rushing back, gesticulating energetically. "The whole tribe is quite close, and comin' fur us!" he announced in a loud whisper when he came near. Here was a predicament. The two eager individuals whose heads were thrust appealingly out of the window, groaned in anguish, for they could not get out without assistance, struggle as they might.

"You had better stay right where you are, boys, and we'll come in too," I said to them hurriedly, for the shuffling of many snowshoes now reached my ears, and there was no time to effect a rescue.

"Heaven knows what's goin' to be the end o' this," muttered the Captain as he swung his lank frame through the opening. It took some time for him to wriggle inside, and then I attempted the acrobatic performance necessary to make an entry. I was just a little late, for, looking around before making the final duck inwards I saw a number of wild-looking figures approaching quickly over the snow. The moon then encountered a belt of dense, fleecy clouds, and a welcome darkness enveloped the landscape just as Stewart, with a grunt of satisfaction, tugged me ingloriously into the odoriferous realms from which he had been so desperately anxious to escape, and shut the heavy barricade. A few minutes passed, during which time we were all but stifled by the pungent air; then our miseries were forgotten in the danger that threatened. Snowshoes hissed and skidded around our shelter, and deep, guttural exclamations in the Chinook tongue sounded on every side. And as I pieced together the various monosyllabic utterances, I refrained from translating them to my companions, although I had a dim idea that both Stewart and Mackay had fully decided that, whatever it might be, the strange structure in which they were was certainly no storehouse for dried caribou or salmon.

We had been barely five minutes in the dismal room, yet the time seemed an age. The Indians contented themselves with circling round each house in turn, keeping several yards distant from them, for a reason which was now painfully apparent to me. I could stand it no longer. "Boys," I said, "we've got to get out of this, lively, for the Indians will probably patrol about till sunrise, and half an hour will just about finish me."

"An' me," groaned Mackay.

The Captain, however, was not satisfied. "Look here, boys," he said, "I don't hitch on to yer meaning a bit. Are the Injuns afraid to go into their houses, or—I'm hanged if I can make out thish yer circus. Is this an Injun village, or is it not?" he demanded.

There was no need to hide it from him further. "No, Captain," I replied, "it's not."

"Then what place is this?" he asked slowly; and Stewart answered him in dolorous tones—

"A graveyaird, Cap'n—an Injun graveyaird."

So it was. The cases contained but the dust of long-deceased warriors, wrapped in blankets which were impregnated with a sickly-smelling scent made by the Indians from the roots of certain plants. In the darkness I could not see the Captain's face, and for some moments he said nothing, then he spoke, musingly: "James the First" said he, "yes, I might have known, for it is James the Second who is now Chief of the Thron-Diucks."

The swishing of snowshoes again sounded ominously near. We waited till the Indians had passed; then Stewart, swinging open the barricade, Mackay scrambled up, and was shot forward into the snow with our combined effort. "Hurry up, boys," he cried, when he had recovered himself; "they are at the end, and are just turning to come back." Breathing heavily, Stewart was next propelled into the open; then came my turn, the Captain being the tallest, waiting to the last; but tall as he was he could only reach his head and a part of his shoulder through the window, for the floorway was sunk considerably. No time was to be lost. With a howl, Stewart gripped the outstretched arm, Mackay the exposed shoulder, and both pulled as if for dear life. Despite the need for silence, the Captain was but human.

"Howlin' tarnation, you're twistin' my neck off!" he yelled, as he was yanked like a sportive fish on to the glistening snow.

"Run, ye deevils, run!" roared Stewart, himself setting the example. There was much need. Scarcely twenty yards away fully a score of tall, bemuffled warriors were speeding towards us, silent and grim, like a raging Nemesis. On the impulse of the moment I discharged my revolver as a signal to Mac to move ahead; then with a wholesome fear in our hearts we set a course for the camp, where Dave, aroused by the revolver shot, was baying loud and fiercely, and skipped over the intervening snow-wreaths at an uncommonly lively rate.

Whether the Indians followed us, or whether they remained to make good the work of our desecrating hands, we never learned, but I rather think they waited to rebuild the tombs of their ancestors. They were certainly not in evidence when we overtook Mac, and we gave a simultaneous shout of relief.

"Whaur's the cariboo ye wis gaun tae fetch?" asked that gentleman in an outburst of righteous indignation.

"Say nae mair, Mac. Say nae mair," eloquently pleaded Stewart, gripping a rope and feverishly assisting the sleigh on its onward progress. "If you had suffered what I hae suffered this nicht——" His voice failed him, and Mac simmered down at once.

"Was it as bad's that?" said he commiseratingly.

"We'd better keep going all night, boys," Mackay hastily remarked, with a furtive glance behind. "And to-morrow," he added, more cheerfully, "we'll have a good blow-out at Skookum Gulch." And so it came to pass.

THE FINDING OF "GOLD BOTTOM" CREEK

As the season advanced the ground hardened so that with our primitive fire-burning methods we could barely thaw more than eighteen inches of gravel in the short day, and even this occasioned tedious labour. The depth of bedrock was sixteen feet, and the frost had penetrated far beyond this level, so that our tunnelling operations along the line of the wash proceeded very slowly indeed. The miners around had begun to flock into Dawson to frequent the saloons and gamble away their hardly-earned gold, all declaring that it was too cold to work—the thermometer registered 25 degrees below zero—and soon Skookum Gulch was almost deserted. "Cap." Campbell and "Alf" Mackay alone remained to keep us company.

My knowledge of the Chinook tongue had been of considerable service to me, and the Indians inhabiting the upper Thron-Diuck valley occasionally visited our camp, bringing many presents of dried salmon and caribou, all of which Mac and Stewart accepted with voluble thanks. Then one day "King James," the chief of the tribe, paid us the honour of a call.

"Why you dig, Mis'r Mac?" he interrogated, apparently much mystified to see us excavating the ground.

"Fur GOLD, ye heathen," howled Stewart, popping his head above the shaft.

King James did not understand the full significance of the remark, but smiled indulgently when I translated it, and solemnly inclined his head towards the speaker.

"You squaw," he said, "you squaw to Mis'r Mac." Which meant that he considered Stewart somewhat presumptuous in addressing a chief of the Thron-Diucks.

After much talk had been indulged in, King James appeared to realise that we were really searching for gold, and had no idea of carrying away or shifting the course of his river; and his dry old face spread out in a broad grin when I explained that much gold, in our country, was equivalent to many squaws. Suddenly he turned and strode solemnly towards his sleigh, which was guarded by several richly-robed squaws and half a dozen youthful warriors; and after groping among the bearskin rugs for some time he came back to me, displaying in his greasy palm a beautiful specimen of alluvial gold: it was large and flat, with smooth surface and water-worn edges; it must have weighed at least three ounces. I gazed in bewilderment; the Indians rarely looked for gold, which to them was not even so valuable as silver, and the latter metal they used only for making ornaments. Mac and Stewart were soon by my side, and while we examined the specimen with undisguised interest, King James lit his pipe—a former present from myself—and puffed leisurely, eyeing me the while with a half-amused expression.

"What think o' that, Mis'r Mac?" he asked at length.

"It's good stuff, King James," I strove to answer in his language, and with a sigh I offered it back. My surprise was great when he waved it aside right royally, and placing his grimy hand on my shoulder in quite a fatherly manner, he spoke out several sentences rapidly.

"Hold hard, King James," I cried. "I cannot follow you if you talk in that fashion. Come into my tent and have some 'baccy."

He smiled benignly, and spoke a few words to the sleigh attendants, who immediately unhitched the dogs and proceeded to build a fire near at hand; then he followed me to my camp and ensconced himself by the stove. I still carried the nugget in my hand, but obeying the old chief's directions, I now placed it in a bottle with my other specimens and sat down beside him. Stewart meanwhile turned his attention to culinary matters, and while the billies boiled, King James and I conversed earnestly on matters dear to the Indian heart.

He was no lover of the white men who had invaded his domain and driven his people to seek the refuge of the mountain fastnesses, and he intimated plainly enough that he should not be sorry to see Dawson City speedily deserted by the white intruders. As for gold, the idea of grown men seeking for the yellow metal aroused his keen amusement, and he was very incredulous about my statements as to its value in the wigwams of the white people. After the subject of his woes had been gone into at great length, and our hearty sympathies enlisted, he remained silent for a time as if absorbed in thought. Then his eyes surveyed the mining implements and firearms in the tent, and finally rested upon my nugget collection with a newly-awakened sparkle of interest.

"You come wi' me, Mis'r Mac," he said thoughtfully, after a long pause, "Heap big bear on Thron-Diuck; you come wi' King James——"

I shook my head vigorously; we were not very anxious to shoot big game at that time, but his hospitality would not be denied.

"Me show you whar big gold come from. Me show you Gold Bottom," he hastened to add: "too much gold for white men in Dawson—me show you, Mis'r Mac."

Stewart was so astounded at the old chief's last words, spoken in broken English, that he nearly chopped his fingers with the axe instead of the solidified flour he was preparing to bake.

"I'll gang," he bellowed.

"An' me," growled Mac, who, like his comrade, had only understood the last sentence.

King James smoked stolidly for a few moments, then patted Stewart patronisingly on the back. "You good squaw," he said, gazing at the half-baked flour with much approval, "you come wi' me."

The appellation "squaw" by no means pleased the fiery Stewart, and he would have burst out angrily had I not restrained him.

"Yes, I guess we'll go with you, King James," I replied. "I want to see Gold Bottom Creek badly, and I don't anticipate any evil effects from too much gold." And so the compact was made, and old "Leatherskin," as Stewart promptly dubbed him, smiled softly when I explained to him the workings of my big game rifle, and went into a transport of delight on being presented with a serviceable Colt revolver and a box of cartridges. Suddenly his face clouded, and he said anxiously—

"Only you come, Mis'r Mac; only you an' squaws."

I restrained my companions with difficulty from rushing at him to choke back the objectionable epithet; then an idea struck me. I wanted "Cap" Campbell and Mackay, my adjoining burrowers in the frozen gravel, to accompany me; they had shared with us the plodding uncertainty of things at Skookum Gulch, and I wanted them to reap some of the benefits attached to the discovery of the mysteriously-famed "Gold Bottom" before the district was rushed. I could hardly doubt that King James's information was correct, and the specimen given me was sufficient for even the most incredulous-minded person. The inducement was very real indeed, but the chief would only allow Mis'r Mac an' squaws.

"All right, King James," I said, "but I have two more squaws." He eyed me with a look that was fast changing from one of mere friendliness to one of much respect.

"You great man, Mis'r Mac," he grunted. "Four squaws? Ugh!"

When he saw the brawny giants that Mac hastily called in, his surprise was unbounded. "Good squaws," he chuckled.

"What in tarnation does the old skunk mean?" said Mackay, and Campbell's anger was rising visibly.

"Look here, boys," I said. "King James has told me of a creek that is lined with gold, and this is a sample"—I showed them the specimen received. "He asks me to go and take charge of the lot, but only myself and squaws. You had better be squaws for once in your lives. Savez?"

They did "savez," and made every effort to show their cordiality to the King, who appreciated their advances with tolerant grace, but grinned expansively when he saw their well-filled cartridge-belts.

Stewart made a triumphant success of his cooking that day, and in honour of the occasion he filled the little "doughboys" with pieces of dried apricots and peaches, and, indeed, everything in that line our larder afforded. So luxurious a repast did he provide that King James sighed regretfully when he rose to go.

"You come to-morra', Mis'r Mac!" he cried when he was rolled up in his sleigh blankets, like, as Mac said, an Egyptian mummy.

"Right!" I answered, waving him goodbye. But he had not finished.

"Be sure bring cook squaw," he murmured contentedly.

The long whips cracked and the dogs bounded forward; the shriek of the sleigh-runners effectually drowned Stewart's vehement curses; and the King departed.

Next morning we started out for the Indian camp. Mac and Stewart had the tents struck, and it with the blankets packed in neat rolls on our sleigh soon after sunrise. Our rather small store of flour and other necessaries found ample space on the same conveyance, and to this load Dave was harnessed. Campbell and Mackay did not delay us; they were up betimes and had their dog-sleigh ready with ours. The temperature this morning registered 30 degrees below zero, and even while we were engaged tying the sleigh ropes, long icicles formed at our chins and dripped from our eyelashes.

"Are you ready, boys?" I cried to my freshly-acquired squaws.

"Right!" they responded with one voice.

"Gee up, Dave," said Mac, and with a bound and a shriek our sleigh led the way towards the Klondike's unknown source. We were not much concerned about leaving our properties on Skookum Gulch; it was not likely that any one would "jump" our claims; the weather was too cold for the tender feet of Dawson to venture out around the creeks. Soon we left the Dome in the distance behind, and swiftly we crashed through the powdered snow and blown ice on the main river. No white man, at this time, had explored the head waters of the Klondike. In the earlier season I had attempted the task, but was repelled by the deep gorges and grim cañons that marked the river's channel for many miles when near an outlying spur of the "Rockies." Now we forced a trail far beyond my furthest travel, tracing here and there the track of the old chief's sleigh where the runners had cut deep through the blistered ice. Our visages were soon framed in icicles, and our cheeks rendered stiff by a thin film, as of glass, which caused us much pain. Mac and Stewart ambled beside the staggering dogs, occasionally helping them over obstacles and badly-blown patches. For once they were forced to march in silence, for their mouths were sealed as if by iron bands.

The Grand Cañon was entered soon after midday, and the majestic powers of old King Frost had so metamorphosed the dark gorge that we made our trail over the frozen torrent almost nervously. The great stalactites and dripping ice cones shut out the sky completely, and we forged ahead in a vague eerie shadow reflected from the translucent pillars. Here and there the roar of the flood echoed from giant clefts in the ice, and caused the glassy walls to quiver and crackle; then again came the oppressive calm, broken only by the dull rumble of the rushing torrent full fifty feet below.

It is impossible to picture the grandeur of an Alaskan cañon when the elements hold it in thrall; there is nothing like it in the whole world. Nevertheless, we were not sorry when we emerged into the comparatively open country beyond, and picked up afresh the track of King James's sleigh which we had been unable to trace in the gorge. Our destination could not now be far distant, for the frowning peaks of the Rockies loomed directly ahead, and the valley was rapidly becoming lost in the minor ranges that appeared; we were surely near the mystic source of the golden Klondike. The dogs never slackened their trot, though now and then they staggered and stumbled over large ridges of blistered ice, which cut their paws cruelly. Our moccasins were being quickly reduced to shreds, and our clothing generally had become stiff with the frost and rent in great holes by contact with the brittle, flaking ice. Few white men would have dreamed of making such a journey on such a day. I contented myself with that reflection, though probably the miners in their snug huts at Dawson would have dubbed us colossal fools for venturing so far back into the Indian territory; but gold was always an irresistible incentive.

"I reckon," said Campbell, coming up from behind, and grimacing frightfully as he spoke, while the ice shivered on his face with the effort, "this is not much of a picnic, is it?"

It was some minutes before I could reply, and while I strove to coax the muscles of my mouth to relax without doing serious injury to my features, Stewart's hoary visage shook itself clear of its icy sheath with a crackling, splintering sound, and his voice rang out—

"I see the Injun camp! Hurroo! D——!" The last expression was given in a most sorrowful tone as he felt the blood trickle on his cheeks and freeze into icy appendages.

"You've got to think a lot before speaking in this country," I sympathised, but he would not open his mouth again.

Rounding a bluff, we saw, nestling in the shadow of a great pine-forest, an array of mud huts and tepees covered with caribou skins. Many fires were blazing in the vicinity, fed lavishly with logs drawn from the wooded slope behind. A number of King James's subjects superintended operations with unmoved faces; it was a routine to which they had long become accustomed—for bear-fires were very necessary indeed in these parts; Bruin had not yet reconciled himself to his winter slumber, and, as I have noted, the Klondike valley was infested with various species of his kind.

With a sigh of thankfulness I signalled to Mac to draw up alongside the largest fire, and he needed no second bidding. A few moments more and we were all eagerly thawing ourselves before the blaze. Even the dogs crept as close as the burning logs allowed, and warmed their poor frozen bodies on all sides, turning continually, as if on a revolving toast-rack. From the most imposing hut now came rushing towards us King James, with numerous squaws; and while the King congratulated me effusively on my safe arrival, the squaws beamed coquettishly on my companions, who felt in no wise complimented by their attentions.

"They tak' us fur squaws, Stewart!" howled Mac, more in sorrow than in anger; then I heard them both with much deliberation calculate out the value of the Queen squaw's dress as she stood by them, speaking words of welcome in a tongue they could not understand.

"It's a rale guid beaver," I heard Mac say.

"An' what a bonny silver-tip cloak," burst in Stewart.

"An' the moccasins," continued the first speaker, "are faur ow'r guid fur an Injun tae wear."

At this juncture I turned anxiously; I thought it very necessary.

"For heaven's sake, Mac," I said, "leave the squaw's beavers and moccasins alone. We'll get murdered if old King James——"

"Wha's touchin' their belangin's?" interrupted Mac indignantly; but despite his righteous outburst, I knew that he and his doughty comrade would have had little qualms about appropriating the bonny beavers and moccasins also. Their logic was vague, but conclusive enough to satisfy themselves. However, with much grumbling they unharnessed Dave, and started to erect the tent in a sheltered spot, Campbell and Mackay having already got their smaller canvas home fixed up.

"It's fair disgracefu'," muttered Mac, as he pulled on the guy-rope, "tae think o' livin' near Injuns! We're comin' faur doon in the world surely."

"Ye're richt there," spoke Stewart mournfully; "bit, man, did ye ever see sic a bonnie beaver?"

Next morning, when the dim grey light was beginning to appear, we set out to explore the creek containing "too much gold." King James's sleigh led the trail, for which I was truly thankful. The dangerous nature of the route from the Indian camp was all too apparent. Miniature glaciers hung perilously over each mountain ridge, and formed a sight well fitted to unnerve any man but an Indian; and when we crawled over their glassy surfaces, and slid down on the "other" side, it seemed to me that we were running risks enough for all the gold in Klondike. We had not gone very far, however, before King James drew up his dogs in the bed of a deep chasm that traced directly from an enormous ice-field overhead. I looked around and saw the frozen channel of the Thron-Diuck about a hundred yards below; the King had taken us by a "short cut" over the mountains rather than follow the much easier route by way of the main river. For a moment I thought that he had purposely meant us to lose our bearings, but he soon dispelled that fear.

"Gold Bottom here, Mis'r Mac," he said. "You dig." He measured about a four-feet length on the snow, meaning, I suppose, that we should find bedrock at that level. "You find much gold, Mis'r Mac, too much gold——"

"Hold hard!" I interrupted; "I guess we'll deserve all we get. This is the devil's own part of the world we've struck."

King James grinned incredulously, but kept silence; and arranging his sleigh rugs, he whipped up his long line of dags and sped back over the trail we had just traversed. We watched him till his sleigh, careering dangerously, rushed down into the valley beyond. The mining instincts of Campbell and Mackay now overcame their dislike of our chill and uncompromising surroundings.