Klondike Nuggets, Edward Sylvester Ellis [best story books to read .TXT] 📗

up and looked around in the gloom, wondering what it meant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's that?" asked Jeff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


CHAPTER X.

AT WHITE HORSE RAPIDS.

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

"What have we ahead?" asked Jeff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is next due?" asked Frank.

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

"Yes."

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

"Where are they?"

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

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

"Thry it," was the imperturbable response.

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

The party