For more than an hour the Canadian tracked his game. Pete, from the hill-top, had sighted a tiny thread of blue smoke rising from the valley on the other side, and knew that Indians, probably Peel River men, were also upon the track of the animal, when instantly his enthusiasm in the chase cooled.

He decided to follow MacDougall. If these were the Peel River Indians they were far from their own hunting grounds, and must have driven big game into this vicinity which they were loath to abandon. In case that MacDougall should bring down the caribou he might get into trouble, and Pete hastened on.

The cold, crisp air was intensely still. As he proceeded, with alert ears, he heard a shot, angry voices in altercation, and a second shot, when the now thoroughly awakened Indian hurried on in the footprints of the Canadian.

One of the hunters would probably hunt no more; but which one was it?

He was not long in doubt. Coming suddenly upon them he discovered that his fears were realized.

MacDougall stood sternly regarding a fur-dressed Indian lying dead upon the snow. He and Pete exchanged glances.

"What's the matter?" asked Pete.

"He jumped upon me and declared the caribou was his. I told him it was mine, when he pulled his gun and I shot him—that's all," said MacDougall.

"That's plent'," tersely from Pete. Then casting his eye over the sky he said: "Snow cum quick,—hide um. We cut caribou," whereupon he whipped out a big hunting knife, after placing his rifle in the crotch of a tree, and began slashing the still warm body of the big caribou.

MacDougall followed suit. It was not long before the two had selected and cut away the choice parts of the carcass, and with as much of the meat as they could handle, made their way back to camp. Pete and his Indians, with dog-teams, were dispatched to the scene of the double tragedy for the remainder.

The dead Indian was left as he fell, and falling snow soon covered him.

That night the Canadians pushed on without resting, laden with as much meat as they could carry. It was thought safest not to remain long in the vicinity, as some of the Peel River Indians might track the murderer of their brother.

The dogs had feasted on caribou as well as the men, and all could return to the long trail with redoubled energy. More large game was seen, and from this on there was no lack of venison.

Ptarmigan, too, made a variety of eating. The snow-white beauties were never tired of, but furnished food equally as good as the caribou. The miners were given a pleasant surprise one evening when George MacDougall cleaned the birds for his breakfast. Three or four peculiar looking pebbles rolled out of the craw of the bird he was handling and fell upon the ground. Stooping, he picked them up.

"Gad! What's this?"

"He then made an examination.

"Here you, Indian! Get some ice and melt it. I want to wash these stones. If they are stones, I'll eat 'em. I believe they're gold nuggets," he added to his brother, at which the latter crawled out of his fur sleeping bag to investigate.

They were now in a gold-bearing country. Of this MacDougall felt assured. The nuggets found in the craw of the ptarmigan, though not large, were of pure gold, and once clean of filth looked good to the eyes of the patient prospectors. They had certainly come from the bars of some stream, which, in an exposed place, had been wind-swept, furnishing the grouse a late feeding ground when tundra berries were covered with snow. To be sure, not much nourishment could have been gotten from the nuggets, but the latter had answered the purpose of pebbles in mastication processes.

After this MacDougall kept more hopefully on. Each bird shot was examined, and many carried their own savings bank with them. No better indications were wanted of the contents of the creeks of the region.

The gold was surely there.

Finally, after six cold and weary weeks, during which time much of hope and fear had constantly alternated in the breasts of the two Canadians and their men, notwithstanding the reiterated affirmative statements of the Indians; Pete grunted with satisfaction and pointed to a nearby forest.

"Indian cabins over there," said he. "Two sleeps cum rich crik."

"I hope so, Pete," MacDougall had replied, being tired and hungry.

Only twice on their long trip had they come upon small Indian settlements, and then a few hours' rest within the crowded and stifling huts satisfied them to resume their march. The air outside, if cold, was pure, sweet and invigorating, and these hardy, fur clad men were now accustomed to it and enjoyed it.

A fresh surprise awaited them at Pete's house. A good, large, log cabin of two rooms, lined from top to bottom with the furs of animals, and ornamented with antlers and similar trophies of the chase, made a warm and comfortable home compared to that which the white men had expected to find. A pleasant-faced squaw and several small children retreated to the inner room upon the entrance of the men from the trail. While Pete greeted his family, the visitors made notes and discussed the surprising situation.

"Gee Whiz! Who'd a thought it?"

"I thought Pete lived in an ice hut, or a teepee made of skins and sticks," said one.

"A filthy hole in the ground was what I thought we'd find," declared another.

"We're right in civilization!" exclaimed a fourth, slapping his knee in delight.

"A music box, as I live!" eyeing an old accordian in a corner.

"Well, I snum!"

The men were all talking at once.

"I'd like to take a smoke, but don't dare," said Tom MacDougall, demurely, with a wink.

"I fancy it might injure the lace curtains," laughed his brother, who looked as well pleased as any of the group, while touching the bit of calico draping at the tiny window.

But Pete was now going out of doors and they all trooped after him. Surrounding the Indian they plied him with a hundred questions. They wanted to know where he and his squaw had learned to make a home like this,—where he got so much of civilization,—who had taught his squaw to keep house,—who played the accordian,—where he got tools to work with, and many other things; above all, where he bought certain accessories to his cabin which they had never seen in Dawson.

Flinging, as they did, all these questions at the poor fellow in a breath, MacDougall feared he would be stalled for replies, and finally halted for him to make a beginning; but Pete only remarked quietly, twitching his thumb toward the southeast:

"Fort by big lake. White man,—mission,—teach um Indian," unconcernedly, as though it was of every day occurrence, and there was no further explanation necessary.

"Do they talk as we do?" asked MacDougall.

"No."

"What do you call them?"

"Father Petroff,—teach um. Indian sick,—fix um. Heap good man," and Pete turned away, thinking this sufficient.

"Ask him how far it is to the Fort, Mac," said one of the men.

"Not now. He has had enough quizzing for this time. It is evidently a Russian Mission on one of the big lakes,—which mission, and what lake, I don't know. But we must pitch our tents, cook our supper, and feed the dogs. Poor fellows! They shall have a good long rest soon for they've well earned it," and George MacDougall patted the snow white head of the nearest malamute looking up into his face for sympathy.

Next day the men had eaten, slept and rested. They had listened the evening before to the old accordian in the hands of Pete's wife; they had trotted the infant of the family on their knees; they had propounded another hundred questions to their uncommunicative host and gotten monosyllabic answers; but they had heard only that which was good to hear, and that which confirmed the leader in his mind that he had made a capital move in coming into this country with the Indians.

Pete had exhibited nuggets and gold dust of astonishing richness. Kicking a bear skin from the center of the room, he disclosed a box embedded in the earth, the sight of which, when uncovered, caused the white men to feel repaid for coming. There were chunks and hunks of the precious yellow metal larger than the thumbs of the brawny handed miners; besides gold dust in moose-hide sacks tied tightly and placed systematically side by side in rows.

The surprise of the white men was great. They did not imagine that Pete mined gold to any extent, but thought he had secured enough in a desultory way for his present use. The trusting native had no fear of the men, having unreservedly laid bare his treasure house.

"I no lie. I tell um truf," said Pete, looking toward Thomas MacDougall, remembering that the doubter had frequently called into question his word.

"We see your gold, Pete, but you must show us a gold creek, too," was Tom's answer to the Indian.

"I show you. Come!"

* * * * *

Three years passed. The great lakes south of the headwaters of the Mackenzie River were again frozen. Darkness claimed the land except when the brilliant low-swinging moon lighted the heavens and snowy earth below, and the sun for a few brief hours consented to coldly shine upon the denizens of the wilderness at midday.

A gang of miners worked like beavers in the bed of the stream. With fires they thawed the ground, after having diverted the creek waters the previous summer.

Their camp was a large one. Fifty men worked in two shifts, one half in the daytime, the others at night. At the beginning of each month they were changed, and night men were placed on the day force; this alternation being found best in all mining camps. Log cabins and bunk houses were numerous, large, and comfortable, for forests of excellent timber dotted the Mackenzie landscape, and men, as ever ambitious for comfort, had felled, hewed, and crosscut the trees to their liking.

Much that was crude of construction was here in confirmation of the fact that the camp was far removed from civilization, and men had, with great ingenuity, supplied deficiencies whenever practicable.

As helpers who were ever faithful there were "Hudson Bay huskies" to the number of four score who had become real beasts of burden, and vied with each other as to which should carry the palm for leadership and favor in their masters' eyes. They were mainly used for hauling wood and ice; the latter in lieu of water at this season.

For carrying gravel and dirt to the dumps the miners had constructed rude tramways with small flat cars, which being successfully operated by gravity in all weather left the dogs free for other service.

No sluicing of dumps could now be done. When summer came again and the creeks and rivers were full of water, this would be directed into ditches conveying it to the well arranged heaps of dirt and gravel, and then these dumps rapidly melted like snow before hot sunshine, leaving in their wake a stream of yellow metal so coveted by these fearless and daring miners.

For no small amount of gold had they risked their lives in this far away corner of the earth. Only four of the miners had come on uncertainty,—the four guided by Indian Pete three years before,—the others had known why they came, how far the distance, how cold it grew, and many other points of which it is well to be advised before venturing; but they had come, and here they were.

Not a man regretted his coming. Not even old Charlie, after breaking his leg and having to wait for days while two Indians "mushed" southward to the Fort, four hundred miles away, for Father Petrof to come and set it right again.

None heard him complain; though some of the "boys" tried to force him to confess that he wished himself back in Dawson.

"Not by a jugful! I don't give in like a baby," said he, stoutly, although the pain in his limb must have been considerable. "There aint no whiskey in me system, either, to keep me leg from healin' when it's once put right (though I'll admit there is some tobac), and I'll be in trim again presently," declared the gritty old miner.

Having nothing better to do while in his bunk he talked on, addressing the camp cook who had a few leisure moments from the kitchen.

"I've seed many a gold camp in me day, boy, and plenty as good as the Klondyke before I ever struck that Canadian bird; but I never got into ground so rich as this. I tell you, boy, it not only makes me eyes bug out, but it makes me hair stand on end, fur it's a whale of a gold creek! When I lay here studyin' the old tin cans and grub boxes full of gold under these bunks, and get to computin' what's in 'em, I feel like hollerin' for joy!"

"But its all Mac's gold, you know," said the cook regretfully.

"Yes, but you and me are gettin' the biggest wages we ever got in our lives, and Mac never squirms at payin' either. Then we have a reasonable hope that Sister Creek is as good as this one, and we boys have got it all staked,—that's where we're comin' in at. See?"

"I hope to. How much do you calculate there is under the bunks in this room, Charlie? I'd just like to know."

"There's about half a million dollars in this cabin and as much in the dumps as they stand-now. By cleanin' up time next summer there'll be half a million more at least; judgin' from indications. That aint half bad, eh?" and Charlie's eyes shone as he talked.

"By George! It's great, and no mistake; but a fellow can't spend any of it here," said the cook ruefully.

"All the better for us. We've got to save it. We can't do nothin' else. Great box we're in, to be sure," and the man laughed heartily in spite of his infirmity. Continuing, he said:

"It's the best place we could be in, I tell you; especially so for Bill who can't buy a drop of whiskey for a thousand dollars, although he would buy it sometimes at that price, I think, if he could."

"It don't hinder him playing that violin of his'n, does it? Do you mind how he played last night?"

"You bet your life. I had nothin' else to do. He's a crackerjack, and that's no josh, either. But here comes Mac. What in thunder's that?" The question was put to the man entering with a heavy load in his hands.

MacDougall laughed.

"Only a nugget that Tom turned up. I brought it in to show you, and the Canadian placed the mammoth chunk of gold on the floor near the bunk.

"What do you think of it?"

"Great Scott and little fishes! She's a bird! Why, man, this new Klondyke will make the old one look like thirty cents!"



CHAPTER V

ESTELLA THE ESKIMO

Estella was not the name her parents had given her. That was unpronounceable to the white man's tongue and was replaced by Estella when she married the trader not many years ago.

She was a bright and amiable young woman, though not actually pretty. Born and raised on the Seward Peninsula, she had learned to hunt, fish and trap, as do all the Eskimo women while still in their teens. Numbers of young men among her people had sought her hand in marriage, but up to the time of the advent of the white men into the country she had never yielded to their entreaties.

When approached on the subject she glanced demurely down at the toe of her mukluks, tossed back her long hair, and, turning her back on the suitor who did not suit, ran away to play on the beach with the children.

Her people did not know her heart. She had ambition, though it was unknown to them. None of the young Eskimos entirely pleased her. Some one with better looks and more supplies than they must offer himself before she decided to take a life-mate, she told herself.

At her birth some planet must have bestowed upon her many aspirations above those of the common Eskimo, and though she was ignorant of the cause of her ambition she realized the possession of it.

Being a sensible young woman she hid these things in her own bosom, for why should she trouble her parents? They would not understand her, but would oppose, say harsh things, perhaps, and, at any rate, feel badly.

So she ran away to play with the little ones. If this did not answer her purpose she persuaded her young brother to take her in his didarka on the water to some quiet island, where in the pleasant sunshine they sat upon the sandy beach or fished in some gurgling stream.

In winter there was less freedom. She must keep more to her father's igloo and help her mother at sewing of furs for the clothing, going out at times with the other women to set their traps in the snow for animals whose skins were in demand by the traders.

At last, one day in winter, there came to the home of the Eskimo girl, two white men. They were clothed in furs and rode behind dog-teams. They came to buy skins, principally those of the black fox, mink and white ermine.

One of the men could speak a good deal of the Eskimo language, and had no difficulty in making known their errand. They wished to remain all night in the igloo as it was too late and stormy to proceed farther on the trail.

The Alaskan Eskimo is kindly and generous. No one is ever turned from his door. It matters not how low the state of his larder, or how few sticks there are before the fire; the stranger is always welcome.

The two white traders remained. They bought of the Eskimo what furs they wanted and paid as little for them as possible. A little thread, calico, tea, tobacco, and a few glass beads were given in exchange for the soft and shining skins which in civilized centers would sell for a fabulous sum.

The storm continued. The traders remained for days. When they left the igloo the heart of the Eskimo maiden was no longer her own; she had given it to another who would presently return and take her to his cabin.

The girl's ambition was now about to be realized. To be looked upon by her people as the bride of a white man, and that one a rich trader who owned, not only a cabin and many skins, but dogs, sleds and boats, was truly a great honor and not to be lightly considered. She would soon be in a position high above that of any of the Eskimo women of her acquaintance, and she began to feel the importance and desirability of her station.

The trader who had succeeded in winning where others had failed was much older than his sweetheart. He was of middle height, with black hair, and swarthy, not unlike in this respect to her own family; but totally different in disposition, a striking contrast to the gentle and yielding character of the Eskimo, but the girl in crass ignorance was quite unaware of the difference. To her he was an ardent lover, brave, fearless, strong, and with worldly goods to provide her with all she liked and needed.

Poor, simple-hearted, little Eskimo girl! Are your good and kind devas sleeping that they do not better guard you? Of what can they be thinking? Call them quickly to advise and help you before it is too late, and your happiness is forever blasted! Will they not wake in time to keep you from making this terrible mis-step? Beware of the white man whose heart is blackness!

But her good devas slept on. The return of the trader was expected, and as far as lay in their power the Eskimo had made ready for the great and unusual event soon to be celebrated. The igloo was made tidy, heaps of firewood were piled beside the door, and from the cache not far distant were brought quantities of frozen tomcod, seal meat, and salmon berries. Whale oil for illuminating the interior of the snow-covered igloo was bought in puffed out seal bladders, tied at each end by stoutly knotted sinews.

A new fur parkie for the bride made of reindeer skin and decorated with black and white fur squares for a border, was completed by Eskimo women sitting crosslegged in a corner of the igloo.

At last the white man arrived. He was accompanied by another who was to act as the officiating clergyman; the Eskimo girl wished to have performed the ceremony of his people; but alas! she had not overheard a conversation which had taken place between the two men.

"Get off some rigmarole of your own, I tell you," laughed the coming bridegroom, speaking to his companion, "It's no matter what it is, only don't make me burst out laughing in the middle of it, for Estella might resent it. She's a bright little one, and that's no josh. Seriously, I don't want a bona fide marriage ceremony performed, you understand. When I make my stake and leave Alaska behind forever I don't care to have a legal wife tagging at my coat-tails. I want to be a free man to go and come as I please. See?" and the speaker puffed a cloud of tobacco smoke from between his lips.

"What about the children, Buster? Will there be any?"

"You bet your life! The brats can live as well as those up the country with that other squaw of mine. But you're a terror for questions, pard. If you squeal on me I'll send you to thunder," clapping his hand on his hip pocket where protruded a stout, black handle.

"No fear of me," laughed the other. "I'm too eager for the rest of them fine furs which we must try to get. Can't you work the girl for them, Buster?"

"I'll try. In the meantime get the dogs together to-morrow and feed 'em up. They're lookin' thin. I hope to hear from Dan in a day or two as regards that creek and what he's found in it. Then I'm off to the nest of my turtle dove, for the bridegroom is hungry for his bride, eh, pard?" winked the dark-browed fellow, still smoking heavily.

"You're a dandy, sure!" retorted the man designated as "pard" by the trader. "I see your finish if your squaw's people up country find out your doin's here."

"They never will. The Yukon is many 'sleeps' away, and there is no communication between these Eskimos and the Indians."

"You're makin' good the sayin' that a sailor has a wife in every port aint you Buster?" continued the man who in the absence of better employment delighted in teasing his partner.

"Wife be blowed! What's got into you to-night? Go along to bed!"

"Thank you I'm there," mockingly from the other, while tumbling into his bunk in the cabin corner, and pulling away at his smudgy cob pipe after retiring.

The two men understood each other. "Buster", as he was nicknamed, was shameless. He respected neither God nor man. Whatever he willed to do, he did, regardless of results, and was well known in Alaska by the white inhabitants. The other was a trifle weaker though not less wicked. He could stand beside Buster and urge him on, while hesitating to do the same acts of lawlessness. There is small difference in these degrees of sinning. If any, it may be in favor of the Busters, who possibly deserve credit for fearlessness where the others are cowardly.

The scant mock marriage was soon over. The smiling little bride said good-bye to her people, who wept around her; climbed into the dog-sled of her new master, and rode proudly away southward.

With the summer her friends might come on a fishing trip to visit her, and renew their acquaintance in her new home.

She wanted to convince them of the wisdom of her selection. She felt that she could do so—if not now, then by the time of their coming.



Poor child! She had not yet learned that it is best to feel confident of nothing.

Two years passed, and a small, black-eyed toddler kept Estella company. He wore a red calico cap upon his head and his stout and chubby limbs grew perceptibly. While young he was tied upon his mother's back beneath her parkie, a stout leather belt confining the same around the woman's waist to prevent the baby from falling out. There his black eyes winked and blinked above the little, round mouth which had only lately learned to smile, and which was beginning to experiment daily among the difficult mazes of his native dialects. For the child was confronted with two languages; English, spoken by his father, the Eskimo spoken by his mother; but he was as yet ignorant of both. Dearly his mother loved him, and enjoyed his companionship during the long and frequent absences of his father.

Gold in great quantities had now been discovered on the Seward Peninsula. Hundreds of people were flocking into the country. Camps were filling with eager fortune-seekers, and the beach was strewn with tents.

Fur traders had gone into mining. Miners were scattered over the country, carrying supplies by boat up stream to the sections where they looked for gold, and where, in many instances, they found it.

The attention of all had been drawn to a stream called Anvil, near the sea, whose sentinel rock, perched upon a tall hillcrest near, had long and successfully guarded its wealth of gold and treasure.

It could be hidden and guarded no longer. Men now labored strenuously with pick and shovel in the bed of the golden stream; nor stopped for sleeping; while accumulating riches filled their vaults to overflowing.

In a small hut upon the beach lived the Eskimo woman and her boy. Her husband had sailed with others for the north country, and the two were unprovided for and alone. With industrious fingers Estella made small trifles to sell to the white people in camp, many of whom carried heavy purses and coveted the souvenirs made by the natives.

It was her only way of earning a poor subsistence for herself and boy. Her father and brothers supplied her with fish in summer and her wants were not numerous. Like worn out footgear which had served its purpose, being perhaps well fitting and useful for a time, but after fresh purchases to be cast aside as worthless, was the native woman now discarded.

It was summer time in Alaska. Tundra mosses were at their freshest, and wild flowers bloomed and nodded on every side. It was the time for fishing, and Estella's relatives came to take her with them on their annual excursion, when for a time she was happy trying to forget the white man's neglect. It was better than his abuse and curses which she had meekly borne; but which still sorely rankled in her bosom. Her parents did not upbraid her. They appeared to have forgotten the girl's pride on her wedding day, and had only kind words for their sad-hearted daughter in her trouble. But sympathy alone could not put food in her mouth nor that of her boy, and winter was approaching.

Her parents had many children, and others depended upon them, and little with which to feed them. The fishing season had been a poor one. Nets and seines had been placed in streams as usual by the Eskimo, but many of these had been destroyed by white men, and where this was not the case the waters of creeks and rivers had been so muddied by mining operations as to ruin all chances of securing fish.

* * * * *

It was a cold and wintry night. The snow was sifting over the tundra in icy gusts from the westward. Morning would see all snow-hidden, including the huts of the four remaining natives on the sandspit between the river and the sea.

Estella's camp fire was dead. There was neither sticks nor coals to feed it. A long-drawn wail from her boy lying huddled in skins upon the ground, reminded her of other deficiencies—there was nothing to eat in the igloo—absolutely nothing. Both were cold and hungry.

Wrapping herself and her little boy as warmly as possible, she took the child's hand and started down the street of the mining camp in the blizzard. There were places open to her. There were the saloons. They were at least filled with warmth and brightness, and she would there be safe from freezing till morning. There were undoubtedly other dangers, but these she could not now contemplate. She could not let her baby freeze while starving.

Making her way along with her boy between the winter blasts, the little one clinging tightly to her hand, she approached the door.

Lights were shining brightly through the windows, and she heard voices. Would she meet her husband if she entered? She hoped not, for she must go in. It was death to remain outside. Timidly she placed her hand upon the door and partly opened it, glancing quickly about the room to note its occupants.

The flaring of the lamps indicated her presence.



"Shut the door, you beggar!" shouted the bartender. "Don't you know the wind is blowin' and lights will go out? Besides its deuced cold night, and coal costs money, you know, Stella," added the fellow less savagely, as, glancing quietly at him, and leading her boy, she slowly moved toward the big coal stove.

"Let 'em warm themselves, can't you?" exclaimed one of the men sitting at a table and shuffling cards for a game.

"Whose hinderin' 'em? I aint! All I'm objectin' to is the length of time she held the door open when she came in."

"Wal, she's in now, and the door's shut, aint it?" drawled the card player.

"Yes."

"Then close your gab!" and lowering his tone to his partner opposite he said shortly, "Play, wont you?"

In the meantime Estella was warming herself beside the fire. On her knees she held the boy whose head soon drooped drowsily in spite of his hunger.

It was a long, bare room, newly boarded as to ceiling, flooring and walls. A smooth and shining counter stretched along the west side of the room, behind which stood rows of well filled bottles, ready to be uncorked. For ornament, upon the opposite wall there hung a great mirror, trying its best to duplicate the owner's stock in trade, as though he would be needing such help before the winter was over, when his whiskies were gone. For further brightening the room there hung suspended from gilt buttons close below the ceiling, certain representations of personages in garments too filmy to assure the observer that they were intended for this Arctic world, because rivalling the costumes of two solitary gardeners in the long ago.

However that may be, the pictures did not disturb Estella—as to the miners they were accustomed to these and many other sights. Something far worse to her troubled the Eskimo. It was hunger.

Suddenly one of the loungers, considerably younger that the others, said to his neighbors:

"I'll bet she's hungry."

"Very likely, Sam, they mostly always are. There's nothin' here to eat if she is, by George."

"There's plenty of booze!"

"Yes, at two bits a drink."

"Then straightening himself in his seat the first speaker called out:

"Stella!"

"What?" answered the woman in a low voice.

"Are you hungry?"

Quick as thought she raised her head and looked appealingly into his face.

"Yes." Her lips trembled, and tears sprang into the dark eyes.

"Have you had anything to eat to-day?"

"No—little fish yesterday," she said quietly, holding up one finger to indicate the number.

"Good God! She's starving! Here, you toddy slinger, there! I say, can't you give this woman something to eat?" to the man behind the bar.

"Wal, I'm sorry to say it, but there aint no grub here; leastwise that's good for Eskimo," he added with a wink.

"I guess most anything would be good for her, and you hand out something real sudden, too," said the young man, tossing a bright silver dollar toward the counter.

"Oh, wal', if that's the game, I'm here. Oyster cocktail and crackers, eh, Stella?"

The woman's eyes brightened at the last words, which she understood; the first she was a stranger to, but if it was something to fill the awful void beneath she could eat it. She nodded eagerly.

Beggars could not be choosers. That was never plainer than now. Cocktail and crackers soon disappeared, a good share of the latter going underneath the woman's parkie to keep for her boy when he awaked. The cocktail he must not have.

An hour later a few of the miners played on. Some, whose well filled "pokes" permitted had gone to warm and comfortable beds, others to cold and cheerless bunks, as the case happened; but the Eskimo woman, with her sleeping boy on her lap, slept heavily. Sitting on the floor in a corner, with her head against a bench, she had for a time forgotten her sorrows.

Presently the door was partly opened, and an Eskimo slipped softly inside. The men were still intent on their "black jack", and he was unnoticed. His anxious face perceptibly brightened when he saw Estella, and he gave a deep sigh of relief as he seated himself near the fire.

There was a lull between games at the green table.

"Say, boys, what's become of Buster?" asked one of the miners.

"Gone to the devil, I guess. That's where he was goin' the last time I saw him," remarked one in no uncertain tone of voice.

"Oh, no, he's married a white woman," exclaimed the youngest of the party.

"Ha, ha! That's a good 'un. My lad, I'm older'n you, and I tell you it may be as you say and still not alter the case of his goin' to the old boy. Some women I know of help a man faster that way than t'other," said the old miner.

"Buster's a chump! Just look at all the money he's made off the natives and see the way he treats 'em!" jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the two asleep in the corner.

"And that kid of his'n. He ought to take care of him instead of lettin' him starve to death like this. I swear its a shame!"

"Yes, he ought to," from another of the group, "but he wont."

"When I was a kid I was told that a bird what can sing and wont sing should be made to sing, and that fits Buster now."

"Oh, well, Alaska's a big place, and there's plenty of natives. It don't matter if a few does die off, There'll be enough left, I reckon," carelessly remarked a man who had not spoken.

"You go 'way back and set down, Tenderfoot; you've allers got a pimple on yer nose! Don't you s'pose that Eskimos feel or sense things? I do. I think that such people as this, 'Stella now, orter be looked after,—'specially with that boy of her'n, for he's a likely kid, and might make somethin'. Wonder why the big guns at Washington don't try a hand at helpin'? Seems to me they could if they'd a mind." The man ended his speech in a lower tone of soliloquy.

"Easy to tell others what ter do, aint it, boss?" queried one.

"I s'pose that's so; but I was thinkin' of my own woman and kids at home, and how I'd feel to see 'em starving!" Then as though regretting the turn the conversation had taken, he reached for his furs, and while pulling his parkie over his head preparatory to leaving, said more briskly: "I'm goin' to bed, boys; you better do the same; it's near mornin'," and with that he left the saloon.

Presently the little boy stirred and whimpered. Instantly the mother roused herself, though with some effort, and the crackers were brought to light. The child was ravenous, and ate greedily. When he had finished the Eskimo by the fire came toward them, saying a few words softly in his own tongue. With that the boy put out his arms and the man took him, going back to his place by the fire.

The woman had changed her position, and was soon again asleep.

When daylight came, the bartender began moving about. He thought the natives had better get into the fresh air, as he wanted to clean the place, he said.

With that the two Eskimos plodded out through the snowdrifts; the man carrying the child in his arms.

The blizzard had died away, and the air was still and cold. When they reached the woman's door they entered, the man first pushing away the snow with his feet, the child still cuddling in his arms.

Beside the camp stove lay piled a heap of small driftwood sticks and a sack of coal. Upon the table a few eatables had been deposited, evidently some hours before. A fire was soon crackling, and a meal was cooking. To the woman's questions the man had not replied. He might have been a deaf man, for all the notice he had taken. She still questioned, speaking their native dialect. When all was done he came close, took her hand in his own, and, speaking in Eskimo, said feelingly:

"My little sweetheart, wont you let me love you now? Many long and weary moons have I waited until my heart is very sore. Tell me if you cannot love me? I will be very good and you shall never starve. I will work. I will bring much driftwood. I have salmon and tomcod, and a dog-team of the best. In summer we will sail for Tubuktulik and make a pleasant hunting camp. There we will shoot squirrels and the big bear, and you shall again be happy with freedom."

At this effort of long speaking the Eskimo seemed abashed, for he was a man of few words usually; but he still clung to the little hand of the woman by his side.

"And my boy?" she whispered eagerly, with tears shining in her eyes, which were now looking unreservedly into his own.

"He shall be mine, and I will ever love him," was the reply, as she glanced proudly toward the baby amusing himself with the sticks.

"You are gentle to Stella, and she will do all things as you say," murmured the woman softly, with drooping head, and trembling.

"And will you love me always, little one?" putting his arms about her and pressing her dose to his heart.

"Yes, always and forever. Then I will not be alone," she smiled brightly through her tears at the prospect, while nestling closer in his strong arms.

"Never alone again, dear one. I promise, if your heart will only love me," said he, kissing her; and the child at play among the driftwood sticks gravely gave a handful to his mother.

"He shall call you his papa," said she almost gaily, "for will it not be true?"



CHAPTER VI

WHY MIDAS FAILED

It was in the Fall of the year 19— that a party of miners outfitted in Nome and started for the Arctic. One of them had been in that vicinity before, was familiar with the trails, and had some acquaintance with the natives of that section.

Like all real "sourdough" miners they knew how to speak a good many words in Eskimo, especially young Gibbs, who had wintered there.

Not only did it please the natives to have the white men use the Eskimo language because it showed friendliness, but it made bargaining easier for all.

It was not, however, for the purpose of trading that this party of five men were making a long, cold and tedious trip to the Selawik River.

They were looking for gold. It was late in November when the creeks and rivers were frozen, and the swamps and tundra could be everywhere crossed; and as the weather was not so severe as it would be later, and the snow was not so deep it was considered the best time of the year for starting the expedition.

There were three dog-teams and as many heavy sleds, packed tightly with all manner of necessary equipments—fur sleeping bags, tents, clothing of skins, and food supplies in the smallest possible compass, besides frozen tomcod for the malamutes.

To be sure, reindeer would have been more expeditious, and would have hunted their own provender, thus lightening the loads on the sleds, as well as making a delicious food for the men in case of a shortage of provisions; but there were none of these animals at Nome and the dogs were substituted.

It was a long journey. The prospect was one of great hardship and even suffering to those not accustomed to a miner's life; but to these hardy men of Alaska, inured as they had been to the cold of this northland, it was a real pleasure trip which was looked forward to with keenest interest.

The direction they wished to take was due northeast from Nome to the Selawik River; and at that place their plans would be further perfected. Their object was to find virgin gold—placer gold—to discover it in such quantities that all might become rich; and incidentally, after their own wants had been supplied, those of the gentlemen whose money had outfitted them would be considered—perhaps.

They were already on the trail, at any rate, with all they needed upon their sleds and in their pockets; the gentlemen in question were far away—too far to interfere with their movements; in fact, had gone to London for the season and could not return for many months.

This was their opportunity. They proposed to use it for their own advantage unless prevented by some unforeseen calamity which should end their lives; at least, this was the way two of the miners expressed themselves in the little roadhouse at Keewalik after many days of hard travel from Nome.

Drinks and tobacco were passed over the counter. Goodbye greetings were being exchanged.

"Hope you'll strike it rich and let us in on the ground floor, Dunbar," called out one of the loafers to the oldest man of the party about to leave.

"Thanks, awfully; I'll remember," replied the man addressed, laughing, but without promising. "So long!"

"So long," called out the bartender in reply. Then to those in the room: "Them fellers are hittin' the trail in good shape with all they need for six weeks, but when that's gone they'll have ter come to us to fill up again. There aint no other place this side of Nome to buy a hunk of terbac that I knows of, eh, Curley?"

"Nope, nor drinks, nor grub neither, by Jove!" removing the smutty cob pipe from between his teeth in order to smile widely as was habitual with Curley.

"I wish 'em much joy with that Selawik gang," said the man behind the bar.

"Well, there's a few whites there, and then there's ole Kuikutuk and his brood, besides a dozen other natives. Does the ole shaman's squaw still live in his igloo?"

"Oh, yes, I guess so. She did the last I heerd," answered the other.

"Ole Kuik better look sharp when Gibbs gits there, for I have heerd that the young fool was awful sweet on his pretty woman last year," and wide smiling Curly pulled his parkie hood over his head preparatory to leaving the roadhouse, after delivering himself of this piece of gossip.

"Them chaps is swelled up now all right enough, but just wait a bit. They may come back with their feathers picked, for the job they've struck aint a summer picnic, and that's no josh, either."

In this manner were the departed miners and their actions commented upon; not in the most complimentary way, to be sure, as is the custom with many when those around them seem prosperous.

In the meantime the prospectors pushed on. Lakes, rivers and mountains were crossed. In the latter the lowest passes and the most used trails were selected, but these were always rough and bewildering at best—a few blazoned spruces on the hills or hatchet-hacked willows near the creeks, a tin can placed upon a stake or a bit of rag flying from a twig; all these but poorly marked the paths which were seldom pressed by the foot of a human being. Weeks might elapse, or months even, when no soul passed that way. Perhaps the whir of a partridge's wing as he flew from one feeding ground to another on the tundra was the only sound disturbing the still air for hours; or when a red fox, made sprightly by hunger, left as few foot-prints on the snow as possible, by leaping with great bounds forward to the hills.

Buckland River and its tributaries were left behind. No gold of any account had as yet been found in their vicinity, and the miners hurried on. Time was precious, for food was disappearing and severe weather was approaching.

Finally, at the close of a short winter's day in December, the three dog-teams drew their sleds into the camp at Selawik. Flinging themselves upon the snow in their harness the patient brutes looked appealingly into their masters' faces. Then, as if by instinct they understood that here they would stop for some days, tense and tired muscles relaxed, each pointed furry head was laid between two weary little feet, and the malamutes rested. They had well earned the rest.

Here in the midst of a forest of small firs the boughs of which were still covered with snow as if it had just fallen, rose the chimneys of perhaps a half dozen log cabins and igloos, the latter appearing to be simply burrows from which smoke was slowly issuing; but being in reality the winter homes of the Selawik Indians or Eskimo.

The latter usually lived in filth and squalor, it being their habit to perform only the most necessary labor, and that, too, with the least amount of effort. The women were the workers, performing the major part of every duty.

In the igloo of the shaman, or medicine man, however, it was different. The old native had lost his first wife and married another and younger one, the pretty woman spoken of by wide-mouthed Curley in the Keewalik roadhouse some days before. She was a full blooded Eskimo, as was the shaman, but had enjoyed the advantages of travel, having visited in the Nome country; remaining for a time also in the mission house at Kotzebue.



Among the Selawiks she was accounted a beauty. Her cheeks were rosy though high-boned, her skin dark but clear, and her lips, not too full for symmetry, repeated the tint of her cheeks artistically. She was fond of weaving bright bits of color into the two long braids of black hair, and decorating in many different ways her fur parkies and mukluks. She was proud of keeping her house and person as tidy as possible, while her versatility allowed her the use of many English words and sentences.

It was not long after his arrival in camp the year before, that the young prospector and miner, Gibbs by name, began looking upon the wife of the old shaman, Kuiktuk, in a way that boded trouble for someone.

The old Eskimo was not slow to perceive it. It was not his custom to talk much, but he was often, though silent, an intensely interested observer of the white man who so often came to his igloo.

The shaman's wife flirted. Then the shaman sorrowed. Like a philosopher he bore his trouble for some months until the spring came, the snow and ice left the Selawik, the young white man's supplies were low, and he was finally seen poling his small boat down the river to the Kotzebue, apparently leaving forever.

Then Kuiktuk took courage, picked up the broken ends of his matrimonial cable, and putting them together as best he could, devoutly hoped he had seen the last of the youthful lover.

Now, after a year, he returned. Not only so, but he had brought others with him who might aggravate the situation; and the old Eskimo's heart was sore. Gibbs and his men had made for the shaman's igloo soon after their arrival in the camp. What would happen next?

He knew their object. They were searching for gold, guided by the man he hated but whom his wife loved. She and her former admirer were already renewing their acquaintance of the year before, to the sorrow and mortification of the shaman.

The men had brought trading tobacco, tea and coffee, with which to gain favor with the Eskimos while they talked of the unknown country about them, its possibilities and probabilities. Did the natives know of gold in this region? Had they seen the shining metal in any of the nearby creeks or rivers during the summer? Had there been reports from neighboring tribes of any such discoveries?

These and many like inquiries were made by the men, but were answered in the negative.

The shaman kept silent.

This was finally noticed by Gibbs, who immediately imagined that here was the only source from which the desired information could be gained.

Kuiktuk had intended it so.

In his corner of the igloo he had ruminated long and earnestly. Three days had the miners already spent in the camp of the Eskimos, and unless they were encouraged in their own way—that is, unless they were given the explanation they sought, they might remain here a month longer; which stay would doubtless bring greater disgrace to the shaman's household than ever; the sooner they were told where to find the gold the better for all concerned; when they would again take to the trail, and he would be left in the undisputed possession of his Selawik wife whom he loved.

"Cow-cow" and calico were kept in store for the natives (the white men said) who would point the way or guide them to a spot rich in the desired mineral; and who needed these things more than he and his family, reasoned Kuiktuk.

It was really no matter if the gold creeks were omitted altogether; he should by good rights have the cow-cow and calico. There were reindeer skins which had been secured the year before by Gibbs, but which he had forgotten to pay for; and lastly, there were damages which should be settled, for had not the young miner stolen his wife's affections and well nigh broken his heart?

Thus Kuiktuk continued to reason. He was not revengeful by nature; he could easily have slipped a deadly draught into the drinking cup of the man, but he had no wish to kill. He only thought to send Gibbs away about his business in order that his own peace of mind might be left undisturbed. To be sure, he might return to Selawik unless entirely put out of the way, but that risk would have to be borne.

Gold-bearing creeks and rivers were little thought of by the Eskimos. Their use for gold was small. Given an igloo, a boat, fishing and hunting tackle, and they were happy and satisfied; but the white man should be taught to let the wives of the Eskimos alone, and that, too, right early.

All this, and a great deal more, passed through the mind of the shaman.

On the evening of the third day after the arrival of the miners, while all sat smoking before the fire, Kuiktuk decided to act.

Taking his pipe from his mouth he pulled himself slowly together as if about to speak.

"Say, Kuiktuk, old man, what is it? Can you tell us where to find the yellow stuff we look for?" keenly inquired Dunbar.

The Eskimo slowly nodded.

"Is it far from here?"

A shake of the head in reply.

"How far? Where?" eagerly asked the men in a breath.

He pointed in a southeasterly direction.

"How many sleeps?" inquired Gibbs, meaning to ask how many days' journey it was.

Kuiktuk held up the fingers of one hand.

"He says its a five days' 'mush' from here," interpreted Gibbs.

"Will you go with us to the place?" from Dunbar.

"Me want cow-cow ameluktuk," mumbled the medicine man slowly.

"Yes, yes, you shall have the cow-cow," impatiently cried Dunbar, "but not until you show us the place."

"Me want cow-cow ameluktuk," again muttered the man, still slowly but more firmly.

"Oh, he wants the grub before we leave," said Gibbs.

"The devil he does!" cried another, who then tried to explain to Kuiktuk that he must produce the gold-bearing creek before he was given the food in payment.

The native was obstinate.

"Cow-cow peeluk, gold peeluk," indifferently, from the medicine man, going back to his pipe in the corner as if not caring for further conversation.

"He means no grub, no gold—or we must give him the supplies first, else we don't get the creek," again interpreted Gibbs.

"To the dogs with the fellow!" cried one.

"He wants the whole cheese."

"Let him keep his creek and be—blessed!"

"Forget it, boys, and come to the Kobuk with me," laughed one.

"Let's give him the calico and beads, but cut out the grub," finally from one of the most generous, while Kuiktuk sat stolidly smoking.

The latter would not compromise. The men hated to part with the supplies, but dreaded far worse to lose the prospect of that good creek said by the native to contain gold. It might prove another Anvil, who could tell? Possibly it was not so far away as the fellow said, Eskimos were never well up in time and distances, and knew nothing of prospectors' methods.

This was what Dunbar argued, and he, being the eldest of the party, was finally allowed his way, and that was to pay the shrewd trader his price, delivering to him the supplies agreed to on the next day before they started out upon their stampede to the creek.

"Then in case the old fellow has lied about the gold," said Gibbs, "we'll hang him to the nearest tree."

A consultation of miners, including Kuiktuk was held. Plans for the trip were laid, the route selected and all preparations completed. The shaman would lead the men up the Selawik Rive; to its head waters, as the trails on the ice, though poor, were level and much better than across the country, where mountain ranges intercepted. They would then head due south.

Only this much of his plan did the old Eskimo reveal. Secretly he wished to lead the men by ways they could not possibly traverse in returning. In doing the latter they would not wish to break a new trail unguided through an unexplored region of such magnitude, and by spring the ice would be leaving the Selawik.

As they had no boats it would be impossible for them to return as they had come. If they came to Selawik during the summer, he, and his family and friends would be away on their annual fishing excursion and their igloos would be deserted.

Thus the Shaman planned before the start was made for Midas.

The weather was not severe and signs were propitious for "mushing". The men were clothed in reindeer skins, with sleeping bags of the same material; their dogs were fresh, and they themselves were well fed and rested.

A hundred miles or more were as nothing to them as compared to the trip from Nome.

At last the head waters of the Selawik were reached under Kuiktuk's guidance. No white man had they seen. A few Eskimo huts were passed; game was more abundant, and as they came into heavily wooded country with guns and ammunition they supplied themselves with ptarmigan and other winter fowl of various kinds. Then they hoped to kill a caribou or reindeer which would furnish food for the malamutes as well as for themselves.

By this time three of the party hung back. With the Eskimo guide they numbered six. To penetrate still farther into an unknown wilderness at this season with an insufficient food supply would be foolhardy; it would be better for them to return to Nome by the shortest trail and again secure provisions.

This course was finally adopted.

Dunbar and Gibbs, accompanied by their guide, one day longer, were to push on as speedily as possible to the wonderful creek, while the others would return to Nome. Here they were to rest quietly until the two had made fast their stakes on Midas, and also returned to the city for supplies. In the meantime, the ones to reach the latter place first were to give out the news of the discovery of a magnificent new section, the center of which was a gold-bearing creek of amazing richness. Here was a chance to excite the credulity of the people of Nome, than whom there were none more willing and anxious to learn of new and rich gold discoveries; and the possibility occurred to the miners that money with which to prospect the new Midas might be collected from the citizens.

With this understanding the men parted; Kuiktuk remaining with Dunbar and Gibbs for another day, when, giving them full and explicit directions as to the route to the creek, as well as a complete description of the same, he started back to his own camp.

Again the two men pushed southward.

"We're up against it now, Dunbar," laughed Gibbs, "and its a question of who'll win out. If it hadn't been for the old rascal's appetite we would have made Kuiktuk come the entire way to Midas; but he lowered our grub so fast it was no use."

"No, but be sure you don't lose his rude map and directions to Midas in your notebook. Without them we would indeed be up against it, as you say," replied the older man, seriously, as they were making their way across the big "Divide" when the native had left them.

Snow was now beginning to fall in large flakes; a storm signal, and one they liked little. The temperature was falling. It was quite dark at three o'clock in the afternoon, and they were obliged to travel by snow-light. When camp was finally made, after halting for the night in a thicket of pine and spruce trees, the men were cold, tired and hungry.

Close under the branches of the pine trees they pitched their little tent for shelter. A big fire of logs and branches was kindled in front. The weary malamutes and their masters had eaten, and lay stretched upon the ground, the men in sleeping bags, thrown upon boughs from the thicket; the dogs upon the snow near the fire.

The latter was to be replenished during the night from the pile of sticks just gathered, and the animals would act as sentinels in case a wolf or bear happened to stray that way.

Oh, the loneliness of that winter's night; they were surrounded by a sheeted wilderness, how far from human habitation they did not know. No moon or stars gave light to cheer the wanderers, but instead, snow falling heavily and noiselessly over all. No winds stirred among the pines, causing them dead silence. The one solitary sound to be heard at intervals was the snapping in the fire of some pine knot, long since broken and dead upon the ground, or clipped from its parent stem by the axe of the prospector.

When the storm had cleared and the two miners were able to look about them sufficiently, they discovered the creek described by Kuiktuk.

It lay between high hills, locked in the icy grip of an Arctic winter. On the southern exposure of these hills grew fir, pine and spruce trees of no great size, but still invaluable to prospectors in this otherwise inhospitable region. Had it been in summer time one could have seen a narrow and sinuous creek flowing in a northeasterly direction, emptying itself into a much larger and more sinuous stream which trended easterly and united with the great Koyukuk.

There were but a few low-lying "benches" to be found. The hills were everywhere. They sprang from the earth like mushrooms in a moist garden. Their summits were rock-ribbed and sides boulder-strewn.

Worse than all else the rock was granite. No miner of experience in this country hoped to find gold in a granite section; it had never been known to accompany such a formation in Alaska, and these men well knew that they were check-mated.

There was no gold there.

They had been duped. When further investigation had confirmed the truth of their first fears the rage of these men knew no bounds. Gibbs, especially, raved like a madman, and swore dire vengeance on the native who had been the cause of their disappointment.

It was all clear to his mind now. The old man whom he had thought so docile and inoffensive as he sat in his igloo corner smoking his pipe, was in reality not what he appeared, but a being like other men, having the same sensibilities and passions. There was no doubt now that he had felt the greatest resentment to the young man's course in regard to his wife, and had quietly plotted against him with this result.

Dunbar was angered that he, an innocent man, should have been made the scapegoat for the shortcomings of his companion; declaring that in doing this Kuiktuk had overreached himself. If he had wanted to punish Gibbs he should not have selected the whole party of five to wreak his vengeance upon in this manner, not knowing when they left Selawik that three of their number would return so soon to Nome. The three latter were in reality as much dupes of the old native as they themselves, for had they not gone on to town to spread the news of the splendid gold discovery?

From this standpoint the matter was reasoned upon by the two men sitting before their camp fire, and ended as usual in an explosion of violent wrath on the part of the young miner.

"Oh, quit your cursing, Gibbs," at last exclaimed the older man, ill-naturedly, "and let's decide what can be done. I have a plan which I will unfold to you if you can stop swearing long enough to listen."

"What is it?" moodily asked Gibbs.

"Let the boys go on to Nome and tell as many big yarns as they like about this rich old creek. When we get there we'll go them one better and make the eyes of the Nomites stand out in wonderment. We will then collect money from as many persons as we can successfully hoodwink into believing our stories and then skip back to the Koyukuk. When the ice has left the rivers we can change our currency into gold dust at some trading post and quietly leave for the 'outside'. Afterwards, if we wish, we can carry this scheme a point farther and on the outside sell Midas ground to all who are easily gullible. See?"

As the man said this he leaned forward to get a closer view of his listener's face. What he saw encouraged him to proceed.

"What do you say, will you do it?'"

"It is the only honorable way out of the scrape, eh?" laughed the other.

"Honor be d——d!" exclaimed Dunbar. "Will you do this or not?"

"I will."

"Shake!"

The two men then shook hands, sealing a compact diabolical to the last degree, and without further hesitation started for Nome the next morning.

There was great excitement in Nome. Five miners had returned from the Koyukuk country and given out information of a gold "strike" of exceeding richness. Three of these men had arrived before the others, but all told the same story. A Selawik Eskimo, they said, had recently guided them to the creek where their own discoveries had confirmed his statement. Nothing so rich had they ever before seen. The creek gave promise of being one of the most famous placer gold diggings that had ever been found in Alaska; was in fact a veritable Golconda, and the returned prospectors dilated upon the interesting details of their story with evident enjoyment. They stated that the formation of the country was the very best for gold indications; that the creek was wide and shallow, the benches were broad, and the hills few in number but long and sweeping like the famous hills of Solomon and Anvil.

The two miners went further. While expatiating to their listeners upon the extent of the possible and probable contents of their new creek, each man exhibited with much gusto a medium-sized "poke" partly filled with coarse gold and nuggets which they had panned (they affirmed) from the gravel bed of the stream after cutting away the ice sufficiently; and with these and other plausible tales were the good people of Nome for weeks entertained.

To their three companions Dunbar and Gibbs gave no hint regarding their actual experiences at Midas.

The secret was safer with two than five; but five men could arouse greater interest and raise more funds for their schemes. For this reason the two leaders kept their own counsel, but urged the spreading of the false reports.

Money soon began to flow into their pockets. Everyone wished to have a hand in this wonderful "strike", and all were willing to pay for such interests. Not only did mining men go into their bank books, but clerks, stenographers, and small tradespeople passed out their hard-earned money. Women also felt reluctant to be left behind at a time of such wondrous opportunity, and plunged their hands into all sorts of nooks and crannies for their long hoarded but smaller denominations.

* * * * *

A few months and the scene was changed. Two miners poled their small boats down the Koyukuk River. Winter was gone, taking ice and snow with it. Instead of these, the waters of the great river, fed by melted snow and tributaries, surged on mightily, now whirling in swift rapids where huge boulders impeded their progress; or to lower levels where green islands caused a division of the floods allowing reunion later.

The men in the boat talked little. They managed to drift past the principal mining camps during the night in order not to be much seen. To be sure, there was no darkness at this time of the year, but the camps were not stirring much through the night; and in the event of a near approach to a trading post in daylight they rested a few hours among the willows on the river banks or upon some island in mid-stream. When they had slept and eaten before their camp fire their journey was resumed.

In the bow of the boat lay two sacks of very great weight. They were not large, but were made of strong, thick material, such as is used for tents. Great care was given these sacks by the two men. At every halt along the river they were carefully lifted out upon the ground above the reach of the water, and covered by some article of clothing or bedding.

The sacks contained gold.

The men had come from Nome to the Koyukuk, where at a small trading post they had changed a large amount of currency into gold dust and nuggets, mined from adjacent creeks. With this they were making their way south to the Yukon River where they intended to go quietly on board a steamer heading up stream, thus making their way to the Klondyke and later to the States.

Reaching the Yukon River, a small steamer was hailed; they boarded her and soon smoked contentedly on deck in the sunshine.

"Are you going on to 'Frisco' as you first thought of doing, Dunbar?" inquired Gibbs, for these were the two Midas Creek promotors.

"You bet I am, and you go, too, for you are pledged to the scheme to the end, you know. You won't back down now, will you?" with some anxiety the question was asked by Dunbar.

"I couldn't with honor, old man, could I?" and the young miner laughed, tossing a handful of gold nuggets up in the air and carelessly catching them as he spoke.

"There you go again!" said the other, "If I were you I would cut out all the small talk about honor after this. It isn't consistent."

"Agreed, but one likes to hear oneself mention the word occasionally as a reminder that there is such a thing. Then, too, if one chanced to be overheard it might make a good impression on somebody," winked the fellow slyly.

"I never thought of that to be sure. You may be young in years but you're not in wickedness. I believe you'll do. If you're not afraid it will injure that blessed honor of yours, go fetch another bottle of the best champagne from the bar, will you?"

"You bet I will. I'll get two of them while I'm getting," and Gibbs sauntered away with his hands in his pockets after tossing his cigarette over the steamer rail.

When Gibbs returned he was followed by a waiter who carried a tray with bottles and glasses. In their wake were others who had quickly responded to the young miner's invitation to drink with them, and they were all presently hilarious.

In this way were the two men scattering the contends of their gold sacks—their's by right of possession only; but really belonging to the townspeople of Nome. Little cared the two men how quickly the gold sacks were empty for they had the ability to replenish them when they liked. They were smooth talkers, told plausible tales, looked one squarely in the eye while speaking, and bore no marks to the casual observer of the rascality underneath.

If people were so easily taken in it was their own look-out, and served them right—this was a much quicker and easier way of mining the creek gold than with pick and shovel—nobody need be poor—"we will soon have money to burn, and might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb;" these were some of the arguments and observations made by the two miners as they proceeded up the river on their way to the "outside" and the scene of their future operations.

* * * * *

A year passed. In the great Koyukuk country the summer had come again and with it new life and activity in the way of prospectors and settlers. Craft of all shapes and sizes could be seen trying to force their way against the current of the great river. There were scows, houseboats, and small steamers. Families there were on flat boats which appeared to hold the earthly possessions of many. Tents were pitched on scows, and camp stoves with their accompanying smoke stacks peeping through the canvas did full duty. Mining tools formed a large and conspicuous part of the supplies of the incoming prospectors, for they were to exploit a certain rich section of country still in its virginity, and there were no trading posts near.

In the multitude there were men, women and children. There were outfits costing hundreds and even thousands of dollars, but all were full of eager expectancy; for were they not coming to one of the richest gold-bearing sections in Alaska? And had not their funds preceeded them for the purchase of claims soon now to be opened up by them?

It was small wonder that they were light hearted and worked early and late to get to the desired place. All carried descriptions of the famous creek and its surroundings, and each day eyes were strained in a westerly direction in the hope of catching a first glimpse of the promised land.

They had come from the Nome country, and a dozen different states besides; the Pacific coast being largely represented. They were there by scores from farms, from shops, from colleges, and from the great cities, and all were filled with highest anticipations.

They were looking for the creek called Midas.

They found it.

Dunbar and Gibbs were not there, but the granite mountains were. Many of the first prospectors to ascend the creek left their outfits and poled even farther in small boats. Many miles they toiled between banks so close and around curves so sharp that there was small chance for turning a tiny craft; but on all sides it was the same.

Winding in and out between great boulders of granite which had in some tremendous upheaval of nature been tossed aloft like snowballs from the hands of a schoolboy, the waters of this creek struggled, icy and sullen.

A tall and distinguished looking gentleman sat in the stern of a boat while his men laboriously poled. He was from London. He had outfitted a party of men in Nome many months before, and had come to find his gold claims.

No staking ground had been done. Close under a clump of pines the remains of a white man's camp in the shape of tin food cans, and broken cob pipes were found; while scattered near were the leaves of an old notebook and rudely traced map.

No further proof was needed. It was the identical creek called Midas by Dunbar and Gibbs.

It was well for them that they were not there.

The heart of Alaska in winter! It is more than pen can describe. Its beauty, grandeur, and immensity are feebly told in words. Snow and ice are everywhere, and that everywhere seems as great as the world. Hills and mountains are here innumerable and majestic; while rivers and creeks unlimited in number and of untold wealth lie safely locked in Nature's storehouse by Nature's hand. The heavens are glorious! the noonday sun making the whole earth to sparkle with diamonds like the gems on a queen's bosom; followed by hours illumined by a moon so softly and brilliantly beautiful as to appear like the eye of a god.

Fully as wonderful as in her gentler moods but far more terrible is Alaska when the great blizzard rages. There remains then no signs of serenity. Whirlwind follows whirlwind; gales from the ends of the earth blow horribly and with frenzied swiftness, bearing upon their breath the icy points of millions of keen needles which bite like the stings of insects. Flying, sifting, drifting snow, which before formed jewels of such exquisite beauty is now piled mountain high, or sucks itself with savage fierceness through crannies and into deep gorges between high hills, thus creating a fitting accompaniment in the dangerous crevasse.

Into this wilderness, north of the great Circle, and amid conditions like these, one would scarcely hope to find white men penetrating. Probably not from choice would they enter; certainly by force of circumstances if at all; and these must have been the most desperate. Be that as it may, a small trail of smoke one day made its way aloft from a log cabin half buried in the snow; while a pack of a dozen malamutes played about the door. A pile of logs and sticks of firewood, an axe, a tin bucket, and dog-sleds near, gave undisputed evidence of the presence here of someone besides natives.

Entering the door, a visitor would have been welcomed by two occupants. One of them lay stretched upon his bunk in the corner of the room; the other, a younger man, threw some sticks upon the fire.

They were arguing the question of breaking camp and pushing further eastward.

"If we can reach the Crow Mountains by spring, secure a boat at Rampart House and work along to the Mackenzie River we are all right," and the speaker bent over a map of Alaska spread out before him.

"From there to the coast is an easy matter, and to secure passage on some whaler for Point Barrow will not be difficult; but afterward—"

"Yes, afterward," interrupted the man upon the bunk, impatiently. "What about afterwards?"

"We will find a way into Siberia or China where we can enjoy our hard-earned gold," with a sarcastic emphasis upon the three last words of his sentence, but laughing lightly.

"There is no reason you should not do this," was the reply, "but with me it is different. I am ill, and daily growing weaker. This isolation and enforced inaction takes the life out of me; my head grows dizzy from much thinking, and I see forms, spectres, and hobgoblins in all shapes and colors," this was said complainingly and in a weakened voice.

"My dreams are so horrible that I dread the prospect of night."

"You're a fool to worry. Keep a stiff upper lip, and all will be well. See, I'm making a checker-board with which we can kill time when we like."

"I'd like to kill the whole of it before it kills me," was the response. "If I only had something to read or something to do. I'm sick of this infernal hole!"

"Ditto here, but what can we do? If we push on eastward now we will probably be without shelter, and it is a long and tedious job to build a log cabin. With the thermometer at sixty degrees below zero as it is we will freeze to death on the trail."

"Much loss it would be," growled Dunbar.

"Then if we went back to the Koyukuk," continued Gibbs, "we would be sure to run into the arms of some of our numerous mining partners from Midas, which we are in no hurry to do. We are now about half way between the headwaters of the Koyukuk and the Canadian boundary line, and as we are fairly comfortable here, with plenty of game and firewood, and as we are not sure of finding a shelter for our heads if we move now, I think it wise to stay right here for two months longer at least. With our hunting, eating, sleeping and checkers, the time will pass if we wait long enough," and the speaker resumed a lighter tone while trying to encourage the other.

"I suppose you are right, boy, but I detest this kind of a life."

"It's a heap better than being behind bars for a lifetime or feeding buzzards while dangling from the limb of a tree." Then seeing the horror on his partner's face, he said with a mockingly polite bow, "A thousand pardons, old fellow, for such unpleasant allusions, but I was only seeking to make you more contented for your own good as well as mine."

"I'm tired of it all," sighed the older man wearily.

"Oh, no, we're not tired of this, Dunbar," seizing a gold sack from among a heap of them upon the ground in a corner of the cabin and emptying the shining nuggets upon the checkerboard. "These look as good to me as ever, because I can see in them ease and luxury in some beautiful southern clime, where the birds sing sweetly and the flowers bloom unendingly; where we can find sweethearts by the dozen and live like sultans—by Jove, I wish I were there now."

The other groaned aloud. He covered his face with his hands.

"Take it away, take it out of my sight, I tell you. I hate it! I hate it!" he cried hoarsely and with eyes glaring, as he leaped from his bunk to the ground.

The younger man knew that he had gone too far and tried to pacify him, putting the gold hastily away and covering it from sight.

Afterwards when the older man had grown calmer, the two went for a hunt, followed by three of their dogs for company. The remainder of the malamutes kept watch by the camp in their absence.

* * * * *

The sun had long since sunk below the western horizon. Following in its wake great banks of luminous clouds swept by, finally culminating in a heavy sheet of haze.

From this gradually sprung broad arches of light to the zenith; while rays of brilliant crimson color ranged themselves perpendicularly from earth to sky, shooting up and down with great velocity and tremulousness. In the zenith these arches slowly widened, their rays multiplying until the whole sky was hidden, and then, deepening in intensity of color, became a veritable sea of blood, flowing steadily westward. Over the vast and snowy Arctic waste this glorious flood of color was pouring until no particle of whiteness remained.

At the close of the day the hunters and their dogs were returning to their cabin after having shot enough small game for some time.

A solemn stillness had until now prevailed, when suddenly, without warning, there were heard with startling clearness on the frosty air hissing or whizzing sounds, like the crackling of firebrands in a furnace.

With the first appearance of the polaris in the heavens Dunbar became greatly excited, clutching the arm of his companion until he cried out with pain.

"It has come at last! Its the judgment! Its hell, hell! See the blood! See it on my hands—it covers everything. Hell's everywhere!" and the man shrieked, tearing his clothing from him and darting from side to side as if trying to escape some awful fate.

In vain the younger man tried to quiet him.

"The devil's coming! He'll get me! Keep him away!" he cried with curses, and he crouched at the feet of Gibbs, a wild-eyed, and screaming maniac.

At that instant the crackling about their heads became louder, and the older man sprang to his feet in a frenzy of fright.

Leaping, shouting, cursing, flinging out his arms to imaginary assailants, tearing his beard and his hair by handfuls, he ran to and fro, a raving madman. Then in an insane frenzy he turned his back on his companion for one instant as if about to flee to the woods, when Gibbs, snatching his revolver from his belt, aimed it at the man's back and fired.

Dunbar fell dead upon the ground.

Until that moment the dogs, quite unconcerned at what was going on about them, being intent only upon following their trail of the morning back to the cabin, now fled toward home, howling dismally.

The young miner was now alone; utterly and entirely alone. Above and around him shone the blood-red light from the heavens; at his feet the body of his only friend—dead.

Gibbs fainted.

* * * * *

The magnificent electrical hurricane of the night before had passed over, leaving behind one faithful sentinel—the moon. Lovingly and brightly her beams were shed over the wilderness of snow whose purity was marred by only two dark blots—the bodies of two men lying dead upon their faces. The first died by the hand of the other. The second by freezing. Both were suddenly called to that judgment so horribly feared by the older man, who saw in the unusual display of the aurora polaris the realization of his worst imaginings.

So these two men fell; while the influence of their evil deeds continue like the ripples on a lake surrounding a sinking stone; perhaps forever.

"For I hold it true that thoughts are things Endowed with body, breath and wings, And that we send them forth to fill The world with good results or ill."



CHAPTER VII

THE OLD STONE HOUSE

The inhabitants of Rainy Hollow were greatly disturbed. In the face of facts there really was justification for such excitement on the part of the miners, the issue at stake being an important boundary line between two great nations. Those loyal to the stars and stripes, and supporting themselves under the protection of their beloved colors, were surprised to hear hinted the possibility of their being placed, against their will, under the jurisdiction of a foreign power, whose hand might easily prove an arbitrary one. Restlessly they agitated the question at their miners' meetings, with a dim hope that some solution of the trouble would present itself, and ultimately they would be left in the happy possession of properties for which they had endured strenuous hardships and from which they would only part when compelled.

From the channel called Portland on the south, along the coast to the pinnacles of St. Elias, ten marine leagues were supposed from time immemorial to be defined; neither the channel, the salt water line, nor the mountain's top having been materially changed as to configuration. From Mt. Elias a perpendicular line to the Frozen Ocean farther outlined the boundary between the two nations, this not being included, however, in the debatable country at this time.

The question, then, before the miners, resolved itself into one peculiarly simple. It was this: Had the line of demarcation been successfully deflected in order to include the natural seaports of such increased importance since the gold discoveries in the Klondyke? and if so, how? The line was far from being imaginary. In the long, long ago in certain places natural landmarks had been made use of by the Russians, but where they were not available monuments of stone had been erected at intervals, and these built in solid masonry had withstood the encroachments of the elements for more than fifty years.

An old stone monument house built by the Russians almost a century before was yet to be discovered by those of the "ten leagues" theory, and it must be searched for, but where, and by whom? If this could be found the authenticity of the old boundary line would be established, and those in authority could place their hands without hesitation upon proof which must be decisive.

Finally, one beautiful day in summer, a miners' meeting was called, and the Rainy Hollow men assembled to decide what they could do to assist the government to put an end to the matter forever.

A burly, old-time miner and pioneer called "Dick Dead-eye" by his fellows, was made chairman of the meeting. This name was given him because he was a good marksman, having an eye which seldom failed him in taking aim with a gun. He was seconded by a stranger, who, having a keen, quick glance and well knit figure dressed appropriately in leathern trousers and leggings, sat at the chairman's right and evidently "meant business", as Billy Blue intimated on the aside to his companions.

"This meetin' will now come to order," called out the chairman of dead-shot fame, giving two or three good, hard thumps on the table with his heavy fist.

As the buzzing in the room ceased and each man gave his attention the speaker continued.

"You fellers all know why we came here to-day. We have with us one of Uncle Sam's men from Washington, D. C. He has been sent by our government to look up the matter of the boundary line between us and the Yukon territory, and see if we can't git things settled rightly."

At this a storm of applause greeted the speaker and along with the clapping of hands was heard the thud of the miners' heavy hob-nailed boots upon the floor in emphasis.

The chairman waited for silence. When it came he said:

"I have the great honor and pleasure, gentlemen, to introduce to you Lieutenant Adams, our friend from Washington. The lieutenant will give us a talk," and with that the chairman took his seat, while wiping away the perspiration incident to the exertion of conducting a meeting in the presence of a man from Washington.

The lieutenant rose quickly, and looking over the little band of miners, briskly addressed them as one of their number.

"My friends," said he, "you have all had experience in locating mining claims, but we want you to locate something else in order that you may keep possession of the ground you have, and that is the old Russian Boundary Line so long ago established by the first white settlers and traders in Alaska. If we can verify the boundary now held by us as being the one established and held by them, you will be left in the undisturbed right of your property."

"Hear! Hear!" exclaimed his enthusiastic listeners, causing the officer to smile.

"You probably all know that our government bought Alaska from Russia a few years ago at what seemed at that time an enormous sum for a frozen good-for-nothing country. The transaction was designated 'Seward's Folly', and the country was said to be a fit residence only for polar bears and Eskimos. The whale and seal industries were fast reaching extinction when gold was discovered, and this, too, in such vast quantities and widely separated districts as to enormously increase by leaps and bounds the value of the whole of Alaska. For this reason the matter of the boundary line has grown to be of immense importance, and in justice to our neighbors as well as to ourselves, it should now be authoritatively settled once and forever. What I want to know is, how many of those present will assist me in securing evidence of the old boundary marks. It is a big undertaking. We shall need guides and boats. I understand what it means for miners to leave their work in the busy summer season, but this affair is urgent and cannot be delayed. Will you help me?"

"We will, we will!" cried the men enthusiastically.

"I thank you heartily, and hope we shall soon accomplish our mission," and with that the Lieutenant took his seat.

Great applause followed, and again the cannonading of boots upon the floor was put into action.

The chairman arose and called for order. After a little time, during which the men gave what information they could, it was arranged that Dick Dead-eye should be the Lieutenant's guide into the mountains. The old pioneer was acquainted with Indians on the Klukwan River who had lived in that vicinity for many years, and as he was conversant with the Chilkat language he thought they could get the desired information. The Klukwan River was a tributary of the Chilkat, rising in the mountains which should be their first objective point.

In the late twilight of an Alaskan summer's day the keel of a little boat grated upon the pebbles of the beach at Klukwan. Mission and the west arm of Lynn had been left behind. Here two small rivers emptied their mountain waters into the big Canal whose long, wet fingers persistently pointed toward the Passes and the Golden North. Incidentally, also, they indicated the direction to the disputed Boundary Line, the exact whereabouts of which the pioneer "Dead-eye" and his official companion had come to determine. For years the Lieutenant had been engaged by the United States Government in making surveys along the southern coast of Alaska where he was no stranger to the Indians. These knew him, and he spoke their language, as did also the old hunter, trapper and pathfinder.

For two decades had the old hunter forced long trails into the unknown country and blazed the way for those who were speedily to follow by thousands. To him Yukon and Selkirk were household words.

So their landing at Klukwan was no new experience. In truth a cabin, substantially built of logs and stocked with edibles and other comforts, awaited the two hardy frontier-men. Had there been no such luxuries they would have felt as much at home sleeping beside a camp fire in the open. They looked for those who could tell them of the doings of white men who landed on these shores nearly a century before, and for those who could point the way to boundary monuments wherever they were. Of necessity they must look among the aged ones of Chilkats for information.

On the day following their landing the Indians were assembled, and inquiry was made by the white men as to the location of the boundary monuments. Had any of the people present ever seen such, or did they know where they were to be found?

Two or three then declared that they had seen, many years before, a Russian Boundary House and knew how to reach it; but they were too old to walk so far, or climb the mountains. They said they would direct some younger Indian, and he should guide the white men to the spot.

Their search, however, proved unavailing, for days they wandered about the mountains and even reached the divide indicated by the old Indians; but nowhere could a Boundary House, or anything of a like description, be found.

At last they returned to Klukwan for supplies and further instructions. There was evidently some mistake.

A consultation was held. An Indian, who had been upon the identical spot of the Boundary House, must accompany the white men and indicate the place, if possible.

Some one mentioned the name of Old Tillie. She was too old to see well, her teeth were long since gone, and she dozed often. No one thought her able to walk any distance; but if she were strong enough she could locate the place, if anyone could. She had been there in her girlhood, seventy years before. When she was asked to guide the white men to the mountains she slowly shook her head but said nothing.



"Well, Dick," said the Lieutenant, "we may as well go home. It is too late to do anything more to-day. It is supper time."

Later, when their meal was finished, and tin cups and plates had been put aside, the officer took from its nail an old banjo, and began strumming. Presently he was singing, and his rich, clear voice, admirably suited to the time, place and surroundings, filled the little cabin and floated across to the green where the Indians camped. Song followed song, and the guide continually puffed his pipe near at hand.

By and by, a form stood in the doorway. It was old Tillie. She had heard the music and had hobbled over to the officer's cabin to listen.

"Come in and sit down, Tillie," called out the Lieutenant. "Do you like music?"

She smiled and nodded, accepting his invitation.

"Shall I sing for you, Tillie?"

A low spoken affirmative came from the old creature, who had seated herself near the entrance.

"I'll see if I can remember a few lines in Chilkat that I wrote some time ago," said the musician, as he again touched the strings.

It was only a simple song, descriptive of two Indian lovers, and it ran in this fashion:

In western skies the sun dips low Above the purpled hills, While glinting waters and their flow The air with music fills.

Filmy and light as fairies' wings, The fading clouds descend, Touching with finger tips the strings While leaves on green boughs bend.

The lone loon's call unto his mate The rustle of the quail, Announce the day as growing late, And sunshine's pleasures fail.

Then out upon the quiet lake, In tiny birch canoe, Ageeluk and her lover make Their vows for weal or woe.

In Chilkat tongue the lover sings, The song all lovers know, To dusky maid with copper rings, Where long, lank rushes grow.

The shadows lengthen, slowly creep Across the water dark, While little waves are hiding deep, Around the lovers' bark.

Content, at last, these lovers leap Upon the steep bank's stone. The leaves are still, the birds asleep, And they are left alone.

When he had finished the song he paused. Tillie seemed fast asleep. She had slipped to the floor at the beginning of the song, and sat with her head upon her drawn-up knees, with her hands clasped above them. She made no move. The officer continued his singing, still softly, and in a retrospective mood. He was a born musician. His whole soul craved song, and the greatest deprivation to him in Alaska was the lack of music. For this reason, he kept his own banjo with him, and many an evening's entertainment had he furnished in cabin and beside camp fire, when his fine barytone mingled with an ascending cloud from burning spruce knots, and added enjoyment to the hour.

At last the old Indian raised her head. Pushing back a few long wisps of hair that had fallen over her face, she asked for water. Her mouth seemed parched and dry, and her withered lips scarcely moved. She had just seen the old stone house they were looking for, and would tell the white men of it, she said.

"Is it the same you saw when a child?" asked the officer.

"Yes, but broken,—the walls stand not. Last moon came men from the north while hunting."

"What did they do?"

"They broke the house,—its walls are down," mumbled the old woman with a scowl.

"How were they before, Tillie?"

"Before? Ah, before! In my childhood I saw it,—that Boundary House on the summit. How green the spruce and pine trees, and the nuts that dropped before snow-fall! What fires we made, and the roaring and sweet-smelling! How dear the Indian lovers, and how brave in bear hunting! With teeth of the cinnamon and grizzly we made chains for our necks, and with breasts of waterfowl we made aprons. In streams we tracked beaver and muskrat, besides mink for our coats in the winter."

"But, Tillie, old woman, what of the white men,—the Russians?"

"Not much white, but dark," she returned, correcting him. "Fine dressing, many knives and guns in belt, buttons bright like money, and they sit on animals, big like caribou, what you call? Yes, horses. Then in boat they sailed to beautiful island. Listen!"

The old creature placed her hand behind her ear as if trying to catch some sound or name. Then, brightening up, she exclaimed: "Baranhoff it is! Big house, fine castle. Beautiful laughing ladies in lovely dressing. Gold, gold, I see everywhere on fingers, ears and necks. Money plenty. All make pleasure, good time, dancing, gambling; drink tea much from big copper dish. Ah, great man many sleeps gone by. This way they dance," then added the old creature, scrambling to her feet clumsily and catching up her tattered skirt daintily with each hand after the manner of a danseuse. Then, still with closed eyes, she glided gracefully and with dignified movement over the floor in imitation of long dead Russian ladies of high degree.

The Lieutenant strummed a few chords softly upon his banjo, but old Tillie was drowsily crooning her own accompaniment as she swayed backward and forward, and seemed not to notice.

At last, wearied by her unusual efforts, she sank upon the floor in her accustomed attitude and breathed deeply.

"But, Tillie, old woman," urged the Lieutenant, who had not forgotten his important business with the Indians, "what did the men leave in the old stone house on the mountain to tell us they built it?"

"I see iron box and many things in it; kettles, pipes, spoons and a big knife. I see small gun that shoots, and bullets to put in it. Many things are in box, and for it you must dig below the ground, not far, in a corner by the old chimney there; but first you roll the stones away."

"But we cannot find the place unless you show us the way, Tillie. Will you go with us?"

"Yes. Me quick find stone house; but Tillie is old, very old, and not much can hurry. She cannot climb mountains like young Indian," and she sighed heavily as she spoke.

"You shall take your own time, only show us to the Boundary House on the Summit, and I will pay you well," said the Lieutenant.

The following day they started. Everything that could be done for the comfort of the Indian woman was done by the two white men. When she was tired she was allowed to rest; and at night a bed of boughs was made for her near the camp fire. Along the banks of the Klahenia she led them, finally leaving the river and following a dry creek bed into the mountains.

Not since she was a little child had she visited this region except in her vision, when she had plainly seen her route and destination,—the ruins of the old stone house on the mountains.

On the afternoon of the fourth day the party reached the desired spot, exactly as old Tillie had described. The Lieutenant and his man found it. Clearing away the huge stones which had formed the walls of the house, they found, upon digging in the corner, an old iron chest of ancient Russian manufacture. In it were the proofs (if more were needed) that this was the identical Boundary House for which they had been seeking. A couple of small copper kettles, blackened with age and dampness, like the rude knives, clumsy revolver, and bullets for the same, as well as a few old pipes, spoons, and a hatchet, lay as they had done for many years, in the bottom of this old chest. Upon the inside of the latter's lid was inscribed the owner's name—Petrofsky—Russian without a doubt; and a rude drawing which clearly traced the much disputed, much sought out Boundary Line between Alaska and the British Possessions.

On this drawing was shown the very stone house upon the site of which they now stood; and Lieutenant Adams and his companion, threw up their caps for joy.