CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XVIIIBUILDING THE CABINA tour of investigation convinced Mr. Bradford that Frying-Pan Creek, the stream for which they were searching, flowed into the river from the right, not a quarter of a mile distant. Lucky was familiar with all the streams of the region, but he was often unable to identify them by English names, and, in this instance, the white men were obliged to base their conclusions on a description of the district previously given to Uncle Will.The goods were moved forward overland to a low hill which sloped gradually to the creek on one side, and fronted the river in a fifty-foot bluff on the other. Here there was abundance of spruce timber, much of which, though still standing, had been killed by a forest fire, and was perfectly seasoned.Nearly a mile to the west, across the river, was a long granite cliff, a thousand feet or more in height, which limited the view in that direction. To the north, as they looked down the valley, they beheld two mountains fifteen miles away, between which the river flowed. The western one rose sharply three thousand feet, the other,much greater in bulk, four thousand. The Indians called these elevations Father and Son, but the western had come to be known among white men as Mount Bratnober, while the other was soon to be named Mount Champlain, after a member of the Thirty-six who climbed it. From Mount Champlain on the north, a range of lesser peaks extended clear around to the southeast, bounding the valley on that side, and it was among these mountains that Frying-Pan Creek had its source, five miles distant. With so many landmarks, they felt no doubt about their position.Uncle Will declared that at the earliest moment they must set off to the headwaters of the creek on a prospecting trip, but to go while ice and snow remained would hardly be advisable, so long as the Thirty-six were not in sight. It was therefore decided to begin a log cabin. The boys, who had always cherished a longing to live in the woods in a house of their own building, hailed this project with enthusiasm, while Mr. Bradford observed that they would now appreciate the situation and circumstances of their ancestors in the wilderness of New England.First a site must be chosen, dry, level, and sheltered from strong winds. Several places were examined, but only one of these satisfied every requirement. It was a small plot of level ground, free from trees, near the top of the hill where it sloped to the creek. To the southand west, the hill-top sheltered it, while to the northwest and north stood tall, dense spruce-trees. Eastward the country was more open, and creek, valley, and mountains were in plain view. The cabin was to face in this direction. Its dimensions on the ground were to be eighteen by twenty feet.So large a structure would hardly have been planned, had it not been for the wealth of light, dry timber around them. The weight of green logs of the required size would have taxed their strength most sorely.Lucky and Coffee Jack were set at work clearing the ground of snow, of which but little remained; while Mr. Bradford and his brother took their axes, and began to fell the straightest of the dead spruces. The boys trimmed off such branches and stubs as survived. Whenever a trunk was nearly cut through on one side, the choppers would give the warning, and, when the way was clear, a few strokes on the other side brought down the forest giant with a crash.To drag the logs to the chosen spot was harder and took more time than the felling. Then the ends had to be notched, so that they would join perfectly at the corners of the cabin, each log having two feet of extra length to allow room for the notching.It was thought the Thirty-six would not arrive before the fourth day, and the elder Bradfords agreed that it would be wise to drop work on the cabin on that day,and stake claims along the headwaters of the creek. But alas for human calculations! About noon of the third day, voices were heard in the direction of the river, and presently six of the mysterious party put in an appearance. They were surprised at finding the Bradfords, who, they supposed, had continued northward."Hello!" exclaimed a thick-set man with a reddish beard sprinkled with gray,—"how are you, gentlemen? We heard your axes, and thought we should find strangers. You're doing the very thing we've got to do.""Yes," said Uncle Will, "but how in the world did you get here so soon, Pennock?""Oh! we've been working like slaves to get as far as we could before the ice went out. It would freeze a little every night, and we would make a few miles, but in the middle of the day we had to build bridges every few rods. Half a dozen of our men have broken through first and last,—sleds too. We left Patterson, Lewis, Colburn, and Whitney, on the Kah Sha claims, and now we six are ordered to stop here and do some prospecting. The rest will try 'to go on.""Ah!" said Uncle Will, much relieved by this last information; "so the rest are going on? Well, I'm sorry for them. The ice won't last two days.""That's true as you live," replied Pennock. "Well, we must get back. We're camped temporarily just below here. Maybe I'll see you again this evening.""All right," answered Uncle Will. "Come up any time.""I believe," said Mr. Bradford, as soon as the visitors were gone, "he wants to join forces, at least, in the building of the house.""I think so too," said Uncle Will. "It wouldn't be a bad idea either. The cabin is easily big enough for all twelve of us. With their help, we can finish it in no time. I even think it would be well to work with them in prospecting, if they are agreeable. Let's see—there are only nine claims to be taken between us. We ought all to be able to get good ones, if there are any."It was accordingly determined that evening, by conference with Pennock's party, to combine for the present. To prevent disagreements, the details of the arrangement were drawn up in writing, Pennock readily engaging to give the Bradfords first choice of claims, for two reasons,—first, because they were first to arrive, and, second, in consideration of the work they had already done on the cabin.Next morning, the Bradfords went to the top of the bluff overlooking the river, and saw the main body of the Thirty-six, now reduced to about twenty-five white men, and half a dozen Indians—including Long Peter—resuming their march. After skirting the shore on a fringe of ice for some distance, they made a short cut across a narrow tongue of land, where the snow wasentirely gone and the sleds could only be moved with the severest toil."Flesh and blood can't stand that a great while," said Uncle Will; "especially on short rations. They'll have to abandon their sleds soon, and carry what they can on their backs. I wish I knew how far those poor fellows are going.""They're making a desperate dash for somewhere," said Mr. Bradford, "and their pluck is certainly admirable. I wish them success with all my heart.""And I too," added Uncle Will, emphatically.Work on the cabin was resumed as soon as possible, and the walls rose like magic with the increased force of builders. In a few days these were completed. An opening was sawn in the front for a door, and smaller ones in each side for windows, the sawn ends of the logs being held in place by the door-frame and window-frames, which consisted of small hewn strips of spruce wood nailed in place. The roof was now constructed of poles laid side by side from the ridge-logs to the upper logs of the front and rear walls. David and Roly gathered great quantities of green spruce boughs, which were laid on the top of the roof-poles. This proved to be a mistake, but in the hurry of building, nobody thought of it. Later, as soon as these boughs dried, the needles came rattling down through the cracks upon the slightest provocation, and were a great nuisance when cooking wasin progress. A layer of damp moss should first have been spread upon the poles, then the spruce, and finally a thick layer of moss over all. This upper layer was duly applied, and being soft and spongy, contributed in no small degree to the waterproof quality of the roof, which was rather more flat than such a roof should be. As an additional protection against rain, several tents were spread above the moss, and now the cabin was complete, except for the "chinking," and interior furnishings."Chinking" is the filling of the cracks between the logs. The boys soon became skilled in this work, and most of it was left for them to do, while the men were engaged in heavier labors. Small dead spruces, slender and straight as bean-poles, were first cut down in large numbers. These were trimmed as nearly as possible to the size and shape of the cracks, and driven firmly into place with the blows of a hatchet. Such crevices as still remained were stuffed with moss and clay.The door consisted of a light framework of poles, covered with cheese-cloth, of which Pennock had a supply; and the windows were of the same material. Though not transparent, it admitted a goodly amount of light, and promised to keep out insects and the wind.Within the house, a sheet-iron stove was set up in the opening left for a fire place, which was then enclosed above and on the sides and rear, with poles set close together and chinked, an aperture being left for the stove-pipe.Sleds were so arranged as to form a dining-table and seats.The boys had set their hearts on building bunks to sleep in. This was approved of by their father and uncle, since it was undoubtedly healthier to be off the ground, and they suggested that two double bunks be built in the southwest corner, large enough to accommodate the four. The boys were left to exercise their own ingenuity in this work, and they succeeded in turning out two very good berths, constructed wholly of spruce poles, and arranged like those of a steamer's stateroom. Soft boughs were spread upon the berths, and then the blankets, in which rude quarters they slept as comfortably as they ever had at home. The upper berth, too, served David as a shelf, upon which to develop his photographs.This nucleus of a city it was voted to call Pennock's Post.How refreshing it was, as they surveyed the finished product of their labors, to feel that they had reached their destination, that there was no exhausting journey to be resumed on the morrow, and that at all times they could be sure of a warm, dry resting place with a roof over their heads!CHAPTER XIXTHE FIRST PROSPECT-HOLEIt was now the first week in May. The snow was entirely gone from the lowlands, melted by the breath of the chinook. The creek was swollen to twice its normal size, and had overflowed its banks in many places, bursting its icy bonds and stranding the ice-cakes high among the bushes. As for the river, that, too, had freed itself, and its muddy current was rising inch by inch. On the mountains they could almost see the snow-line creep higher and higher each day, and soon on the lesser heights no snow remained except in the gullies, giving to the mountains a streaked aspect.Robins and song-sparrows put in an appearance, and ducks were everywhere. On the very first warm day, bees, flies, and a mosquito or two were thawed into life, and hummed and buzzed in the sunshine as if there had never been any winter. In every sandy bluff and bank the ground-squirrels, beautifully mottled little creatures, came out of their holes, and sat up on their haunches as stiff as a ramrod, with their fore-paws demurely folded on their breasts, and sunned themselves and cast curious glances at their new neighbors.Purple crocuses blossomed in abundance, and everywhere grass was growing green and buds were starting. Spring had come!"What do you think of a prospecting trip?" asked Uncle Will of Pennock, one morning. "I believe we can sink a shaft now.""That's a good idea," said Pennock. "The frost ought to be out of the upper soil by this time. If it isn't, we can thaw it with fire.""The one thing I don't like about this place," continued Uncle Will, "is that the creek seems to be deserted. We heard rumors of extraordinary richness here, and if there's any truth in them, there ought to be some signs of life hereabouts.""That's so," admitted Pennock. "It was Cannon who advised the Cap'n to leave a few men here. He said he sunk a hole last year and found gold enough to make it worth while to explore more fully. What really brought our party into this country, though, was a report of a rich strike up above. That's where the rest of them have gone; but I don't know just how far it is.""Well," said Uncle Will, "the stories I heard may have been misleading. We'll see what there is here anyhow, and take our chances. By the way, there's another creek to the southeast yonder, where you see that gully in the mountain. We might send a party there."To this proposition Pennock assented. Accordingly Mr. Bradford and Roly, with Large, Nichols, and the two Indians, set off toward the gully, which was about six miles distant, while Uncle Will, David, Pennock, Reitz, Adair, and Johnson started for the headwaters of the creek beside which they had camped,—a journey of four miles. We may as well follow the fortunes of the latter party.There was no trail worthy of the name, but once or twice hoof-marks were discovered, probably made by Cannon's pack horse the previous season. Sometimes they entered forests of standing spruce and poplar, either growing or fire-killed, and now it was a district of fallen trees, where it was almost impossible to advance, from which they emerged with a sigh of relief into some open grassy meadow near the stream, where walking was pleasant and easy. Presently they ascended a clay bluff a hundred feet high, skirting its edge where it was free from timber. From this vantage ground they could see the snowy peaks of the Dasar-dee-ash Mountains, thirty miles to the south, on the other side of which lay the claims they had taken in April. Uncle Will examined the fine clay of the bluff, and gave it as his opinion that it would make excellent bricks and pottery.In an hour and a half, they came to the foot-hills, where the stream fell noisily over a bed of boulders in a pretty glen. A sharp lookout was kept, but no signsof Cannon's work were seen. At length it was decided to sink a hole on the south bank where a bed of gravel had been deposited by the water. From the nature of the rocks about them, they concluded that bed-rock was not far below the surface. Picks, shovels, and a gold-pan had been brought, and the men took turns at the digging. It was hard work, for many large stones were encountered frozen into their places, and these could only be pried loose at risk of a bent pick. When a depth of twelve inches was reached, Pennock filled the pan with a sample of the gravel, and took it to the stream, while the others, except Adair, who was swinging the pick, gathered around him, eager to know the result of the test. Not a color was found, but there was black sand and in it two small rubies.The discovery of the rubies did not seem to offset the disappointment of the men at finding no gold,—a fact at which David wondered, until his uncle informed him that those gems were quite commonly found in the Northwest, and such small ones were of little value. David resolved, however, to look about for himself, and, in a mound of sand thrown up by ants, he found a dozen or more, some of them a little larger than the ones in the pan. These he carefully picked out, and put in his match-box for safe keeping.Meanwhile, the work in the prospect-hole went steadily on. At a depth of two feet a small color was found, bywhich time it was noon, and work ceased for an hour. By the middle of the afternoon the hole was three feet and a half deep, and solid rock was gained, though toward the last so much water entered that digging was difficult, and bailing had to be resorted to. At the bed-rock, where all their hopes rested, were found a few insignificant colors,—nothing more.Uncle Will, usually so cheerful, was quite downcast at this result. He had heard the rumors of gold from men whom he trusted, and was obliged to conclude that they had themselves been misled. Indeed, it seemed to be one of those instances in which a very small tale, by long travelling and frequent repetition, becomes strangely magnified and distorted. The Thirty-six had detached few men here because the story, as they had heard it, had located the wealth in a different place. Still there might be a good deal of gold on this creek, for a single hole is usually not enough to determine the character of a gulch. At least one more shaft must be sunk where the gravel was deeper, before all hope need be abandoned. Even if worst came to worst, there still remained the Alder Creek claims, and Lucky's nugget.It turned out that the other party, under Mr. Bradford, had met with even less success. Rubies they had found, but not a single color of gold. However, they had not reached bed-rock at the end of the first day.Uncle Will and his companions returned to the cabina few minutes before the others. Seated on the ground outside the door, they found an Indian family, consisting of an old bent squaw, two young women, and a thin, weak-looking young man. The old squaw, evidently the mother of the others, waved her arms in token of welcome as soon as she saw the white men. Then, touching the young man's breast she exclaimed, "Him sick, you savvy?""Sick, is he?" repeated Uncle Will, looking at the pinched features and wasted frame."Sick—yis—you savvy [understand]?" said the squaw."Consumption," said Uncle Will to David. "It's very prevalent among the Indians, and carries off hundreds." Then turning to the old Indian woman he added, "I savvy,—very bad, very sick. Have some tea?""Tea! Yis, yis," answered she, eagerly, for tea is considered a great luxury by the Indians, and this family, dressed in ragged, cast-off clothing, seemed too abjectly poor to buy anything at the trading-post. Indeed, the only food they had was dried salmon, though the man carried an antiquated shot-gun.Uncle Will made some tea, and the natives drank it delightedly in the cabin, which they entered without invitation as soon as the door was opened.It must be explained here that the door was fastenedby a sliding pole which ran some distance along the inner side of one of the front logs, and was held in place by wooden pegs. The pole was shoved across the door by means of a knife-blade inserted from the outside between two logs at a crevice left for the purpose five feet from the door. In this manner the door had been locked that morning when the two parties set off. Doubtless the Indians had tried the door; but finding it secure, and seeing no means of opening it, they had not ventured to break in, but waited for the return of the miners.Both Uncle Will and Pennock realized the desirability of keeping the secret of the lock from the visitors, and this they attempted to do when the door was opened, Uncle Will attracting the attention of the Indians, while Pennock softly stole up to the crevice and pried back the bar.But though the natives did not see the door opened, they intended none the less to know how it was done, and that was why they so promptly entered the cabin with the others. However, the white men thought it best to say nothing, for it might be that they would drink their tea and go out without noticing the door. Pennock, who was a Colorado man and had no liking for the "redskins," kept an eye on them from the moment of their entrance.The old squaw, after a quick inventory of the contents of the cabin, glanced furtively toward the door, and atonce discovered the long bar, but she did not know exactly how it was managed. So presently she shuffled unconcernedly up to the front of the cabin, and, turning about, faced the centre of the room. To all appearances, she was idly leaning against the logs, but both Pennock and David noticed that her hands behind her back were busily fumbling with the bar, and moving it cautiously back and forth. The "game was up." Knowing the existence of the bar, and its height from the ground, she would easily discover from the outside the crevice through which it was controlled."The rascally old witch of an Injun!" muttered Pennock through his teeth; but he knew it was of no use now to make a fuss. He broke out violently, however, when the visitors were gone and it was discovered that a nearly empty butter-can outside the house had disappeared with them."They're all sneak-thieves, every one of 'em," he declared angrily; "and the worst of it is that the old squaw learned the secret of our lock. I saw her fumbling round. Now we've got to leave somebody here every time we go away. I'd just like to—!"This sounded very much like the preface to a dire threat; but Mr. Bradford, who had arrived some minutes previously, interrupted it by observing that the Indians would not be likely to take food or clothing."No," said Uncle Will. "They'll make off withempty cans, or any little thing they think won't be missed, but they wouldn't take goods of value. That's too dangerous in this country. Besides, we've treated them well, and they're pretty low-down creatures if they steal from us now.""All the same," said Pennock, "there was half an inch of good butter in that can, and I was intending to make a coffee cup of it as soon as it was empty. They're a shrewd lot, if they are dirty and ignorant. I hope they've gone for good."It was a vain hope. A little later, a column of smoke half a mile up the trail northward showed that they had camped.CHAPTER XXROLY GOES DUCK-HUNTINGFor many days, no game of any kind had been secured in abundance, and Uncle Will, who saw the pork and bacon disappearing too rapidly, cast about for some means of eking out the supplies. With this end in view, he prevailed upon his brother to let Roly spend a day in hunting, knowing full well that nothing would please the lad more. Roly had been careful with the shot-gun, and had fairly earned this privilege.The days in that high latitude were now so long that, even at midnight, there was a twilight glow over the summits of Father and Son in the north. At three in the morning, it was broad daylight, and Roly, as he awoke into delightful anticipations, heard the "quack, quack" of big brown mallards, and the whistling wings of smaller ducks, as they flew to their feeding grounds. He was out of the bunk in an instant, and slipping on his jacket and long rubber boots, which, with his cap, were the only articles needed to complete his attire, he snatched a hasty breakfast, put a piece of corn-bread in his pocket, and then, gun in hand, softly opened the cabin door, andstole out into the fresh morning air. The joy of youth was in his heart, and a sense of freedom and adventure came with the thought of hunting all alone in that great wide valley, and made the blood tingle to his finger-tips.There were ponds and marshes in every direction, but Roly decided to cross the river and walk southward, for he observed several ducks flying that way. He therefore made his way down the face of the bluff, through the sliding sand to the river-bank, where a raft of three logs had been moored. Loosing this unwieldy craft, he laid the unloaded gun upon it, then seized the long push-pole, and sprang on board. It required considerable effort to free the lower end of the raft from the mud, but finally it swung out into the stream. Roly pushed and paddled lustily for some moments before he succeeded in urging the heavy affair to the farther shore, for the current was strong and carried him down the stream fully two hundred yards. He fastened the raft to a clump of alders, picked up the gun, and set off up the stream to the south, keeping a sharp lookout for any kind of game.After penetrating a tangled thicket, he saw that he was coming out upon a long, open swamp. There might be ducks here, and he paused to look carefully at two or three pools which gleamed at some distance. Seeing nothing, however, he skirted the edge of the swamp to the higher wooded land beyond, where he was startledby the sudden chattering of a red squirrel in a spruce over his head. He could have shot the squirrel easily, but felt it would be unmanly to kill any creature wantonly. The little animal was too small to have much value as food, and, besides, cartridges were precious. So he passed on, in the hope of seeing larger game.On every sandy bank the ground-squirrels sat, and while they were larger than the red squirrels, they were very lean after their long winter sleep. They were plentiful near the cabin, and Roly thought he could catch them with traps or snares, as soon as they were in better condition. For the present, therefore, the ground-squirrels were also left in peace.Everywhere were traces of rabbits, but no rabbits were to be seen. Lucky had explained this one day by saying, "Rabbit come bime-by—plenty rabbit—all gone now,"—which Mr. Bradford interpreted to mean that the animals migrated from place to place, and at some seasons would, no doubt, fairly overrun the country, while at other times they would be very scarce.At length Roly caught a glimpse of a long, swampy pond between the trees ahead, and on its smooth surface, near the centre, he could see three ducks, one small, the others larger and of a dark-brown color,—doubtless mallards. Hardly had he made this discovery, and paused to consider how he should approach, when up flew two little ducks, one variegated, and the other an even brown,—themale and female,—from a near arm of the pond which had escaped his notice. The boy trembled, lest the other three should also be alarmed; but they went on dipping their bills under the water quite unconcernedly, while the small one occasionally dived.Near the bank stood a green spruce, the branches of which came thickly down to the ground on the side toward the water, forming a splendid cover. Roly thought that if he could only reach this tree, it would be an easy matter to bag a duck or two, so he started cautiously on tiptoe, keeping the tree between himself and the birds. But there were many dry twigs and little bushes in the space over which he had to pass, and the two mallards—most wary of Alaskan ducks—presently took alarm at the almost imperceptible crackling on the shore. Up they flew, quacking loudly, and making a wide sweep in Roly's direction, so that he felt sure he could have shot one of them on the wing. Indeed, he would have tried it, had not his father given strict orders to the contrary. Cartridges were too precious here to be spent on experiments. Roly had never practised wing-shooting, and his father knew he would waste a great deal of ammunition before acquiring the knack. Where sport was the object, not food, and ammunition was plentiful, Mr. Bradford would have advised his son to shoot only at birds on the wing, that being more sportsmanlike, and giving the birds a chance. But here itwas simply a matter of food, and every cartridge must count.Roly, therefore, after one longing look at the now distant mallards, crept up under the tree, and, kneeling on the moss, took aim through an opening in the branches at the small duck, which seemed much less timid than the others, though it had paddled a short distance toward the farther shore. There was a puff of smoke, and the report rang out sharply on the still morning air. The duck flopped once or twice, then lay motionless on the water, on perceiving which, Roly executed an immediate triumphal war-dance under the tree.It was now a question whether the pleased youngster could secure his prize. The wind was too light to blow it ashore, and the longest pole he could use would not be long enough. The water looked dark and deep, but at least he would try it; so, pulling up his rubber boots to their full length, he stepped carefully out into the pond. To his surprise, he found that the mud on the bottom was solidly frozen, and the water was nowhere more than two feet deep. The duck was therefore quickly reached and brought back to the tree, where the young hunter ambushed himself again to await developments.He now bethought him of the empty shell in his gun, and had hardly thrown it out, preparatory to snapping another into place, when two fine mallards appeared fromthe southward, and plumped heavily down upon the water, not thirty feet from his hiding place. Alas that, ofalltimes, the cartridge should stick atthatgolden moment! But stick it did, refusing to go in, or even to come out again. Roly fairly bit his lips with vexation, and tugged with nervous fingers at the mechanism of the breech, keeping an eye on the ducks all the while, and trying to be as quiet as possible. It was all to no purpose. A bit of dirt had found its way in somewhere, and he had to shake the gun violently before the cartridge would move. The mallards could not be expected to turn a deaf ear to this commotion. They raised their heads, and then with one impulse fluttered up and away, and poor Roly nearly cried, as the obstinate cartridge slipped easily in, ere the birds were fairly out of sight.It was yet early, however, and the lad knew that he had only to wait patiently, to find another chance. He could occasionally hear the whistle of wings as a flock flew past, and sometimes he could see the birds from his covert. He had watched and waited a half hour, when four ducks settled down at the remote end of the pond. They were out of range, but soon began to come closer. Two were like those he had first frightened from the narrow arm of the marsh, small in size, the male brightly plumaged, the female a smooth brown. It was a male of this species which he had shot. The other two seemed much larger, but in other respects almost exactly liketheir companions. They kept quite near each other, and splashed or dived unconscious of danger.Roly watched his opportunity, hoping they would bunch together, so that he might kill more than one at a shot. He had not long to wait. As they came in range, the two larger birds and the smaller female were exactly in line, one beyond another. It was the favorable moment. He aimed at the middle one and fired.The small male duck, which had been out of the line, seemed bewildered rather than frightened by the noise. He dived, came up at a distance, and paddled away without taking flight. The two larger birds were instantly killed, while the small female beyond was crippled, and fluttered around in a circle. Roly felt justified in using another cartridge at once to put her out of suffering. Then he waded out and brought in his prizes, the fourth duck having escaped into the swamp-grass.He wondered if the others back at the cabin had heard the shots. It was not unlikely, for they would be stirring by this time. Having seated himself again, he fell to thinking over the strange life he had been leading for the past two months, so different from that at home. His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a fine mallard, which was bagged without delay.No more ducks visited the pond, though he waited until the middle of the morning, when they ceased flying. He therefore prepared to return. The legs of the birds weretied together, and they were slung over the barrel of the gun, which he then raised to his shoulder, and found he had something of a burden.But he was destined to carry still more. He had not proceeded far when he heard the clucking of a ptarmigan in the woods to his left, so leaving the ducks where he could easily find them, he stole softly in the direction of the sound. The clucking soon seemed very near,—so near that he did not dare to go a step farther, for fear of frightening the bird, but, look as he would, he could see nothing of it. He scanned the ground for a glimpse of white, forgetting entirely that the ptarmigan becomes brown when the snow disappears, and was just giving up in despair when he sighted the bird perched on the dead branch of a tree across a little glen. And, what was better, there were two in the tree. Roly manœuvred till he had the birds in line, and it was such an easy shot that both fell stone dead at once, amid a shower of feathers."Well done, Roly, my boy!" said Mr. Bradford, heartily, when the prospectors returned late that afternoon and found Roly's bunch of birds. "Let's see, here's a mallard, two golden-eyes, two little butter-balls, and two ptarmigan,—seven birds in all. And how many shots did you fire?""Five," said Roly, with pardonable pride. "There were no large flocks to fire into, but I meant to make every shot tell.""Yes," said his father, "and you've done very well, especially for a beginner.""And how many did you get, Johnson?" asked Uncle Will. Johnson had been on a similar errand for the other party."Five ducks and a white rabbit," was the reply. "On the whole, Roly has carried off the honors, for I fired six shots."So the campers obtained fresh meat, and all were very glad to abstain awhile from bacon. Both Roly and David went duck-hunting often after that, and always with good success throughout the migrating season.CHAPTER XXILAST DAYS AT PENNOCK'S POSTThe Indian family hung about the premises more or less, hoping, no doubt, for more tea or another butter-can. They set steel traps in the neighboring sand-banks, and caught many ground-squirrels, some of which they offered to the white men for twenty-five cents a pair; but while ducks, ptarmigan, and occasionally a wild swan or rabbit could be shot, no one was inclined to buy. David and Roly thought, however, that it would do no harm to catch ground-squirrels for themselves, and they set about making snares.These were simple, and consisted of a strong but slender willow branch, fixed firmly in the bank high above the hole in a nearly horizontal position, a stronger stick similarly set between the other and the hole, and a piece of string with a slip-noose at one end. The other end of the string was tied to the extremity of the upper willow branch, which was then bent down until the noose hung over the hole. A small loop, slipped over the point of the lower stick, held the noose in position.All being ready, it was expected that Mr. Squirrel, coming out to take an airing, would run his head throughthe noose, carrying it along with him until the loop slipped from the lower stick, thus releasing the elastic upper stick, which would jerk poor Mr. Squirrel into the air, and hang him for no greater fault than his ignorance. The theory was perfect, but in practice Mr. Squirrel displayed more cleverness than he had been given credit for. Sometimes he pushed the noose aside, and again he would slip through it, and though occasionally a snare was sprung, the denizens of the sand-bank always managed to get away.The boys therefore decided to try to buy two traps from the Indians; and one day, when the whole family was present, David gave them to understand by signs what was wanted. He shut his hands together with a snap, then held up two fingers. The old squaw quickly nodded her head, and jabbered some unintelligible gutturals, which might have been taken for a fit of choking, but it was evident that she was willing to sell two traps, and on the following day she brought them."Probably," said David, as he gave her two fifty-cent pieces, "she is giving me the oldest and rustiest she has.""Yes," said Pennock, "you can depend upon that. Better see if they'll work, before you buy 'em."The boys therefore snapped them once or twice, to make sure that they were in order."Now," said Roly, "we must get her to show us how to set them in the holes,"—whereupon he made a numberof signs, which she quickly comprehended. She took the traps to the nearest hole and placed them in the entrance, covering them with dry grass, so that the animals would not hesitate to walk over them. The traps proved so old and worn that very few squirrels were caught at first, but Mr. Bradford doctored them one day with a file, after which they were quite effective.Not many days later, the old squaw fell ill, and her consumptive son and one of her daughters came down in haste to the cabin, in the hope that the white men would aid them. It chanced that no one was at home but Pennock, he who most of all detested the Indians.The young woman, by signs and the few English words she knew, made known the state of the case, and urged the white man to come in person, while her brother, with a sweep of the hand toward the east, repeated the word "gold" over and over. He well knew what white men most covet. Pennock, however, did not believe the Indian knew any more about gold than he did. Furthermore, he was not a medical man, and felt that he could do no good by visiting the patient. But he made out that the trouble was a cough, and so without more ado he looked over his slender stock of medicines and picked out a mustard plaster, which he gave to the young woman, showing her by signs to dampen it and lay it on her mother's chest. The two Indians appeared genuinely grateful for the plaster, and offered fifty cents in payment,which of course Pennock refused. So they went off with light hearts, to try the white man's remedy."Ah!" exclaimed Uncle Will later, when Pennock related what he had done; "for all your blustering the other day, you've a soft spot under your waistcoat, I see. That's what I call returning good for evil.""Maybe it was," said Pennock. "I couldn't refuse the poor wretches."Whether the mustard plaster proved effective or not, the dwellers in the cabin never knew, for a day or two later the Indians disappeared, probably continuing their journey toward Hootchi, a Stik village fifty miles to the north.For a time nothing was learned of the fortunes of the large party which had toiled down the valley in April, beyond the fact that they had not been able to drag their sleds more than three miles. This news was brought by one of their number, who said that the sleds and most of the goods had been cached, and he had been left in charge. The others had taken from fifty to one hundred and twenty-five pounds, according to their size and strength, and had pushed ahead.A few small bands of Indians visited the cabin, but as they came from the south they had no news of the gold-seekers. With one of these bands were two dogs of moderate size, staggering under loads of forty and fifty pounds, while their lazy masters carried absolutely nothingbut the clothes they wore. Another party brought fresh whitefish, which they bartered for flour and coffee. Four cups of flour and a pound of coffee were accepted in exchange for seven fish, and both parties seemed pleased with the bargain.This incident prompted the Bradford boys to fish in the creek and river, but they met with no success, and concluded that it was yet too early. Coffee Jack, however, made a most welcome contribution to the larder one day, by coming in with his hat full of duck's eggs, which he had found in a swamp.At last, on the fifteenth of May, the leader of the Thirty-six returned with five white men and four Indians. Some of them were so worn with hunger and fatigue as to be hardly recognizable, and all were utterly discouraged. Their hopes were dispelled; they had found no gold.The big party had advanced more than fifty miles with their heavy loads, and had built two cabins to serve as starting-points for further explorations. The men who had remained there would have to draw on the cache near Pennock's Post very soon, and the leader had given them orders to raft these supplies down the river twenty-five miles to the point where the stream turned westward from the trail, and there establish a storehouse. Meanwhile, those with the captain were to go to the Kah Sha River claims and help the four who had been originallyleft there. The captain himself intended to go to Pyramid Harbor with the Indians, and bring in a fresh supply of provisions on pack horses, as soon as there was grass enough along the trail for the subsistence of the animals.The men were given a hearty supper at Pennock's, for they sorely needed it. Indeed, they declared it was the first "square meal" they had enjoyed in two weeks. After a good night's rest and breakfast, they resumed their journey in better spirits.Five days later came a startling piece of information. Mr. Bratnober, a mining man well known on the Dalton trail, with a young man named Onderdonk and two Indian packers, stopped at the cabin on his way north. He said that war had broken out between the United States and Spain in April, and that Admiral Dewey had won a great victory at Manila.As may be imagined, this news wrought David and Roly up to the highest pitch of excitement."Just think," said they,—"war for a month, and we didn't know it!"For a moment, they almost regretted that they had come to such a far country, and they thought longingly of the stirring times at home. Their father and uncle were also much moved, and their first impulse was to drop everything and hasten back,—the one to protect his family, the other to enter the army or navy. But as they talked the matter over, they saw there was little likelihoodthat the Spaniards could effect a landing on the American coast; and as to Uncle Will's enlistment, though that would have just suited his roving temperament, he decided, upon his brother's urgent request, to await fuller information. All agreed, however, that it would be wise to return at once to the Kah Sha River, a distance of thirty-five miles.There were several reasons for this move. The first and most imperative was the fact that their provisions at Pennock's would last but one week more. In the second place, they had demonstrated to their entire satisfaction that there was no gold worth mining in that vicinity, and the Thirty-six had found none farther north. Thirdly, there certainlywasgold on their Alder Creek claims, and Lucky's nugget was probably now uncovered. Finally, they would be within thirty miles of Dalton's Post, and likely to hear more news from incoming prospectors.CHAPTER XXIIA HARD JOURNEYPreparations for departure were begun that evening. The Bradfords overhauled all their belongings, and decided what they would take and what they would have to leave. There was even less food than they supposed,—barely enough for three days,—but tents, blankets, cooking utensils, tools, guns, ammunition, clothing, and various small articles promised to load them heavily, and it was seen that a part of their goods must be abandoned.The sleds, of course, were no longer of any use. Most of the Mackinaw clothing was now too heavy. The ice-creepers and snow-shoes would not be needed, and the former were thrown out at once, but David and Roly could not part with their snow-shoes, which they desired to take home and hang upon the walls of their room. The rubber shoe-packs were nearly worn out, and were discarded. David regretfully abandoned the two steel traps, which were heavy, and not so necessary as some other things. The down quilts which had served them so well were too bulky to be taken along, though not of much weight. So they went through the whole list,retaining this, rejecting that, until they were ready to make up their packs.Next morning, Nichols, a Bostonian who usually cooked for Pennock's party, obligingly prepared breakfast for the Bradfords, who were busily completing their packing. Large, a tall, gaunt San Diego man,—whose initials were A. T., so that, as he was fond of pointing out, he was always "At Large,"—gave them useful hints about binding the packs. He was a veteran of the Civil War, and remembered his travels with knapsack and blanket. Reitz and Adair, also from San Diego, and Pennock and Johnson, assisted in various ways.After several failures, the boys acquired the knack of making up and binding a pack. To accomplish this, they first arranged their goods in the least possible space, and rolled them in tent or blankets,—for David had the latter, and Roly the tent,—thus forming a flattened cylindrical bundle. A lash-rope from a sled was wound once lengthwise and twice widthwise around the pack, the latter windings being about ten inches apart. The bundle being set on end, a strong canvas pack-strap two inches wide and three feet long was inserted under the lower winding at its junction with the lengthwise rope, and the ends were made fast to the upper winding about ten inches apart, leaving the two lengths of the strap somewhat loose, so that the packer could thrust his arms through these loops. Thus the straps passed over hisshoulders and under his armpits. To prevent them from slipping from the shoulders, they were bound together by a cord passing across the chest. By means of the long, loose end of the pack-rope, brought over either shoulder and grasped by the hands, the load could be shifted a little from time to time if it became painful.At seven, all was ready, and the Bradfords took leave of their friends and cast a last look at the little cabin."I guess you'll see some of us before long," said Pennock, as he bade them good-by. "There's no sort of use in our staying here. Remember us to the boys, and leave us some of the gold."Uncle Will motioned Lucky and Coffee Jack to lead the way, and off they started through the open timber to the main trail, which passed but a few hundred yards from the cabin. The hoofs of horses and cattle, travelling to Dawson the previous season, had clearly defined it, and one would have thought it a cow-path in a pasture, had it been in New England instead of the Northwest Territory. For two miles it was smooth and hard, and the walking was excellent, except that sometimes a tree had fallen across the path.Each of the three men carried a load of seventy-five pounds, though Lucky would have thought nothing of one hundred and fifty, being trained to the work from childhood. David had fifty pounds, and Roly and Coffee Jack forty each.Before they had gone half a mile, the boys realized that the journey they had begun would be a severe test of endurance. The pressure of the straps caused pain in their shoulders, and soon their arms and hands tingled with the prickly sensation which arises when the blood cannot circulate freely. They were obliged to avoid sticks and stones with great care, for a sprain or bruise might easily result from stepping upon them so heavily. Even Uncle Will, who had done a good deal of packing, was quite ready to rest when pain compelled the boys to halt. They secured temporary comfort by seating themselves in front of a fallen tree so that the packs would rest upon it, and the prickly sensation in the arms was relieved by loosening the straps a little. Fortunately all had been well rested and strengthened by their stay at Pennock's Post, and were fortified to endure both pain and fatigue. Mr. Bradford was as strong now as his rugged brother. David had grown muscular, and gained in weight. Roly looked much as usual, but his muscles were certainly harder than they had ever been at home.Following the east shore of the river, they came to the mouth of the creek whose headwaters Mr. Bradford had explored. It was crossed by a single narrow log twenty feet long, a rude and dangerous bridge for any one who had not a clear head and steady nerves. The water, six or eight feet below, was still and deep and muddy. Tofall into it with a heavy pack meant almost certain death, if assistance were not at hand.Lucky and Coffee Jack, however, crossed unhesitatingly, and Uncle Will performed the feat without betraying dizziness; but when Mr. Bradford's turn came, he looked somewhat doubtful, declaring that he had done no tight-rope walking since his boyhood days, and he feared that if his head swam, the rest of him would soon be swimming too. On the whole, he thought it wise to remove his pack and carry it in such manner that he could drop it if he fell. He then advanced over the log slowly and cautiously, for its upper surface, hewn level and smooth, was but four inches wide. The boys carried their packs across in the same manner, for though they were good at balancing and had no fear of dizziness, yet to transport a top-heavy, swaying load was very different from making the passage unencumbered.Beyond the creek the land was swampy, and travelling more difficult. They circled one of the small lakes which they had crossed on their northward march, and came at length to a hill two hundred feet high. This was climbed slowly and with several pauses, for they found themselves out of breath the instant they left the level ground, and the perspiration fairly dripped from their faces. At the top, David threw himself down before a log with his pack resting upon it, but Roly thought he could improve on this arrangement by sitting on the trunk itself and lettingthe pack come against the great upturned roots. Unfortunately, in the act of seating himself, he leaned too far backward, and instantly his load overbalanced him. Over he went on his back on the other side of the tree, pack down and heels up, to the amusement of his friends and his own discomfiture, for, try as he would, he could not move."Roly seems to have come to anchor," observed Uncle Will, with a most provoking twinkle in his eye. He and his brother had seated themselves at a little distance."Yes," said Mr. Bradford, smiling as he contemplated Roly's fruitless efforts to turn over; "and perhaps it's just as well. We shall know where to find him.""I should think you would," said poor Roly, laughing in spite of himself. "I can't get up till somebody helps me, and I did want to look at the valley.""Oh, no!" put in David, with exasperating composure; "the sky is far prettier. Just see those beautiful white summer clouds sailing along.""Let them sail if they want to," said the prostrate youth, impatiently. "I don't care. Have you all conspired against me? Give me your hand, Dave, you're nearest.""Oh, I don't know," answered David, without moving. "Do you remember a certain April Fool's trick, young man?""Yes," groaned Roly."Don't you think you ought to be punished?""Not any more than I am. My pack will punish me enough for twenty tricks before the day is over.""True enough, youngster," said David, with swift repentance, as he thought of his own sore shoulders and the growing pain in his back. "Here's my hand. You had my forgiveness long ago.""That's right!" said Mr. Bradford, who had been on the point of going to Roly's assistance when this dialogue began. "Don't lay up resentment, my lad."So Roly came up smiling, and they all took a good look at the valley of Pennock's Post, the whole length and breadth of which lay spread before them. There in the blue distance northward were the Father and Son, with the narrow pass between. Nearer was the granite cliff to the west of the cabin, and even the sandy bluff that fronted the river was distinguishable. But the little house was hidden in the forest.Soon after the march was resumed, a small and beautiful lake was skirted, lying east of the trail. Beyond it towered a mountain, upon whose green slope gleamed a white waterfall, while near the hither shore emerged an islet crowned with trees. Uncle Will looked particularly at the ice, which had melted away from the margin of this lake, but still appeared firm in the centre."There's about an even chance," said he, "that we can cross Dasar-dee-ash, instead of going clear around it. Wemust make the short cut if possible, for our food is almost gone. I think the ice will bear us, if we can only get upon it."With every step, the packs became more painful. Shoulders and hips grew sore, backs ached, and feet grew lame. It was now necessary to rest every quarter of a mile. They passed another lake, along whose shores the trail was rough and swampy. Wooded ridges rose on either side of them. In some places they found small berries of the previous season, which, being pleasant to the taste and harmless, were eagerly eaten.The Indians at length left the trail and turned through a cleft in the hills in the direction of Lake Dasar-dee-ash, which lay three miles to the west. Only here and there could the white men distinguish faint signs of an old path which Lucky and Coffee Jack followed with wonderful acuteness. On reaching the lake, the Bradfords estimated that they had carried their loads at least fourteen miles, and it was with a great sense of relief that they threw their burdens to the ground and proceeded to pitch the tents with what little energy remained.At this spot an old Indian and his family were fishing. They were evidently well known to Lucky and his brother, whom they entertained that evening with a supper of salmon and whitefish,—a fortunate circumstance, since the provisions of the Bradfords were running so low that they barely had enough for themselves.The second day's march was even more severe than the first. It was needful to hasten, for the old Indian could spare no fish when the Bradfords offered to buy, and even Lucky could procure but half a dozen small ones for himself and Coffee Jack on the journey. Rations were therefore reduced, for it was plain that it would be well along in the third day before they could reach Uncle Will's cache, even should it prove possible to cross upon the ice; while if the crossing should seem too dangerous, it would require a fourth day to go around by the rough, wooded south shore.At the old Indian's camping ground, the outlook was anything but favorable. It was now the twenty-second of May, and so warm that the green buds were swelling in every tree. As far as the eye could see, the ice had retreated from the beach, leaving a strip of open water from fifty to a hundred feet wide. There was nothing to do but follow an old trail along the eastern shore in the hope that somewhere conditions would be more encouraging.The heavy packs were strapped on once more, and off they tramped across a wide marsh, now jumping as well as they could from hummock to hummock, now wading through water knee-deep. Beyond the marsh they had a bad trail, or no trail at all, for the remainder of the day, sometimes forcing their way through thickets, sometimes clambering through a region of fallen timber, where thegreat trunks were piled in such intricate confusion that a passage seemed utterly hopeless, and again crossing a newly burned woodland where dry dust and ashes lay several inches deep, and rose from beneath their feet in stifling clouds. A river a hundred feet in width was crossed by a convenient jam of logs and trees. Late in the afternoon they took to the beach, where the rough cobblestones offered the lesser evil, and after a mile of this painful walking came to a little cove where at last was a sight so welcome that the boys gave a glad shout. A narrow spur of ice was seen, bridging the strip of blue water.

CHAPTER XVIIIBUILDING THE CABINA tour of investigation convinced Mr. Bradford that Frying-Pan Creek, the stream for which they were searching, flowed into the river from the right, not a quarter of a mile distant. Lucky was familiar with all the streams of the region, but he was often unable to identify them by English names, and, in this instance, the white men were obliged to base their conclusions on a description of the district previously given to Uncle Will.The goods were moved forward overland to a low hill which sloped gradually to the creek on one side, and fronted the river in a fifty-foot bluff on the other. Here there was abundance of spruce timber, much of which, though still standing, had been killed by a forest fire, and was perfectly seasoned.Nearly a mile to the west, across the river, was a long granite cliff, a thousand feet or more in height, which limited the view in that direction. To the north, as they looked down the valley, they beheld two mountains fifteen miles away, between which the river flowed. The western one rose sharply three thousand feet, the other,much greater in bulk, four thousand. The Indians called these elevations Father and Son, but the western had come to be known among white men as Mount Bratnober, while the other was soon to be named Mount Champlain, after a member of the Thirty-six who climbed it. From Mount Champlain on the north, a range of lesser peaks extended clear around to the southeast, bounding the valley on that side, and it was among these mountains that Frying-Pan Creek had its source, five miles distant. With so many landmarks, they felt no doubt about their position.Uncle Will declared that at the earliest moment they must set off to the headwaters of the creek on a prospecting trip, but to go while ice and snow remained would hardly be advisable, so long as the Thirty-six were not in sight. It was therefore decided to begin a log cabin. The boys, who had always cherished a longing to live in the woods in a house of their own building, hailed this project with enthusiasm, while Mr. Bradford observed that they would now appreciate the situation and circumstances of their ancestors in the wilderness of New England.First a site must be chosen, dry, level, and sheltered from strong winds. Several places were examined, but only one of these satisfied every requirement. It was a small plot of level ground, free from trees, near the top of the hill where it sloped to the creek. To the southand west, the hill-top sheltered it, while to the northwest and north stood tall, dense spruce-trees. Eastward the country was more open, and creek, valley, and mountains were in plain view. The cabin was to face in this direction. Its dimensions on the ground were to be eighteen by twenty feet.So large a structure would hardly have been planned, had it not been for the wealth of light, dry timber around them. The weight of green logs of the required size would have taxed their strength most sorely.Lucky and Coffee Jack were set at work clearing the ground of snow, of which but little remained; while Mr. Bradford and his brother took their axes, and began to fell the straightest of the dead spruces. The boys trimmed off such branches and stubs as survived. Whenever a trunk was nearly cut through on one side, the choppers would give the warning, and, when the way was clear, a few strokes on the other side brought down the forest giant with a crash.To drag the logs to the chosen spot was harder and took more time than the felling. Then the ends had to be notched, so that they would join perfectly at the corners of the cabin, each log having two feet of extra length to allow room for the notching.It was thought the Thirty-six would not arrive before the fourth day, and the elder Bradfords agreed that it would be wise to drop work on the cabin on that day,and stake claims along the headwaters of the creek. But alas for human calculations! About noon of the third day, voices were heard in the direction of the river, and presently six of the mysterious party put in an appearance. They were surprised at finding the Bradfords, who, they supposed, had continued northward."Hello!" exclaimed a thick-set man with a reddish beard sprinkled with gray,—"how are you, gentlemen? We heard your axes, and thought we should find strangers. You're doing the very thing we've got to do.""Yes," said Uncle Will, "but how in the world did you get here so soon, Pennock?""Oh! we've been working like slaves to get as far as we could before the ice went out. It would freeze a little every night, and we would make a few miles, but in the middle of the day we had to build bridges every few rods. Half a dozen of our men have broken through first and last,—sleds too. We left Patterson, Lewis, Colburn, and Whitney, on the Kah Sha claims, and now we six are ordered to stop here and do some prospecting. The rest will try 'to go on.""Ah!" said Uncle Will, much relieved by this last information; "so the rest are going on? Well, I'm sorry for them. The ice won't last two days.""That's true as you live," replied Pennock. "Well, we must get back. We're camped temporarily just below here. Maybe I'll see you again this evening.""All right," answered Uncle Will. "Come up any time.""I believe," said Mr. Bradford, as soon as the visitors were gone, "he wants to join forces, at least, in the building of the house.""I think so too," said Uncle Will. "It wouldn't be a bad idea either. The cabin is easily big enough for all twelve of us. With their help, we can finish it in no time. I even think it would be well to work with them in prospecting, if they are agreeable. Let's see—there are only nine claims to be taken between us. We ought all to be able to get good ones, if there are any."It was accordingly determined that evening, by conference with Pennock's party, to combine for the present. To prevent disagreements, the details of the arrangement were drawn up in writing, Pennock readily engaging to give the Bradfords first choice of claims, for two reasons,—first, because they were first to arrive, and, second, in consideration of the work they had already done on the cabin.Next morning, the Bradfords went to the top of the bluff overlooking the river, and saw the main body of the Thirty-six, now reduced to about twenty-five white men, and half a dozen Indians—including Long Peter—resuming their march. After skirting the shore on a fringe of ice for some distance, they made a short cut across a narrow tongue of land, where the snow wasentirely gone and the sleds could only be moved with the severest toil."Flesh and blood can't stand that a great while," said Uncle Will; "especially on short rations. They'll have to abandon their sleds soon, and carry what they can on their backs. I wish I knew how far those poor fellows are going.""They're making a desperate dash for somewhere," said Mr. Bradford, "and their pluck is certainly admirable. I wish them success with all my heart.""And I too," added Uncle Will, emphatically.Work on the cabin was resumed as soon as possible, and the walls rose like magic with the increased force of builders. In a few days these were completed. An opening was sawn in the front for a door, and smaller ones in each side for windows, the sawn ends of the logs being held in place by the door-frame and window-frames, which consisted of small hewn strips of spruce wood nailed in place. The roof was now constructed of poles laid side by side from the ridge-logs to the upper logs of the front and rear walls. David and Roly gathered great quantities of green spruce boughs, which were laid on the top of the roof-poles. This proved to be a mistake, but in the hurry of building, nobody thought of it. Later, as soon as these boughs dried, the needles came rattling down through the cracks upon the slightest provocation, and were a great nuisance when cooking wasin progress. A layer of damp moss should first have been spread upon the poles, then the spruce, and finally a thick layer of moss over all. This upper layer was duly applied, and being soft and spongy, contributed in no small degree to the waterproof quality of the roof, which was rather more flat than such a roof should be. As an additional protection against rain, several tents were spread above the moss, and now the cabin was complete, except for the "chinking," and interior furnishings."Chinking" is the filling of the cracks between the logs. The boys soon became skilled in this work, and most of it was left for them to do, while the men were engaged in heavier labors. Small dead spruces, slender and straight as bean-poles, were first cut down in large numbers. These were trimmed as nearly as possible to the size and shape of the cracks, and driven firmly into place with the blows of a hatchet. Such crevices as still remained were stuffed with moss and clay.The door consisted of a light framework of poles, covered with cheese-cloth, of which Pennock had a supply; and the windows were of the same material. Though not transparent, it admitted a goodly amount of light, and promised to keep out insects and the wind.Within the house, a sheet-iron stove was set up in the opening left for a fire place, which was then enclosed above and on the sides and rear, with poles set close together and chinked, an aperture being left for the stove-pipe.Sleds were so arranged as to form a dining-table and seats.The boys had set their hearts on building bunks to sleep in. This was approved of by their father and uncle, since it was undoubtedly healthier to be off the ground, and they suggested that two double bunks be built in the southwest corner, large enough to accommodate the four. The boys were left to exercise their own ingenuity in this work, and they succeeded in turning out two very good berths, constructed wholly of spruce poles, and arranged like those of a steamer's stateroom. Soft boughs were spread upon the berths, and then the blankets, in which rude quarters they slept as comfortably as they ever had at home. The upper berth, too, served David as a shelf, upon which to develop his photographs.This nucleus of a city it was voted to call Pennock's Post.How refreshing it was, as they surveyed the finished product of their labors, to feel that they had reached their destination, that there was no exhausting journey to be resumed on the morrow, and that at all times they could be sure of a warm, dry resting place with a roof over their heads!

BUILDING THE CABIN

A tour of investigation convinced Mr. Bradford that Frying-Pan Creek, the stream for which they were searching, flowed into the river from the right, not a quarter of a mile distant. Lucky was familiar with all the streams of the region, but he was often unable to identify them by English names, and, in this instance, the white men were obliged to base their conclusions on a description of the district previously given to Uncle Will.

The goods were moved forward overland to a low hill which sloped gradually to the creek on one side, and fronted the river in a fifty-foot bluff on the other. Here there was abundance of spruce timber, much of which, though still standing, had been killed by a forest fire, and was perfectly seasoned.

Nearly a mile to the west, across the river, was a long granite cliff, a thousand feet or more in height, which limited the view in that direction. To the north, as they looked down the valley, they beheld two mountains fifteen miles away, between which the river flowed. The western one rose sharply three thousand feet, the other,much greater in bulk, four thousand. The Indians called these elevations Father and Son, but the western had come to be known among white men as Mount Bratnober, while the other was soon to be named Mount Champlain, after a member of the Thirty-six who climbed it. From Mount Champlain on the north, a range of lesser peaks extended clear around to the southeast, bounding the valley on that side, and it was among these mountains that Frying-Pan Creek had its source, five miles distant. With so many landmarks, they felt no doubt about their position.

Uncle Will declared that at the earliest moment they must set off to the headwaters of the creek on a prospecting trip, but to go while ice and snow remained would hardly be advisable, so long as the Thirty-six were not in sight. It was therefore decided to begin a log cabin. The boys, who had always cherished a longing to live in the woods in a house of their own building, hailed this project with enthusiasm, while Mr. Bradford observed that they would now appreciate the situation and circumstances of their ancestors in the wilderness of New England.

First a site must be chosen, dry, level, and sheltered from strong winds. Several places were examined, but only one of these satisfied every requirement. It was a small plot of level ground, free from trees, near the top of the hill where it sloped to the creek. To the southand west, the hill-top sheltered it, while to the northwest and north stood tall, dense spruce-trees. Eastward the country was more open, and creek, valley, and mountains were in plain view. The cabin was to face in this direction. Its dimensions on the ground were to be eighteen by twenty feet.

So large a structure would hardly have been planned, had it not been for the wealth of light, dry timber around them. The weight of green logs of the required size would have taxed their strength most sorely.

Lucky and Coffee Jack were set at work clearing the ground of snow, of which but little remained; while Mr. Bradford and his brother took their axes, and began to fell the straightest of the dead spruces. The boys trimmed off such branches and stubs as survived. Whenever a trunk was nearly cut through on one side, the choppers would give the warning, and, when the way was clear, a few strokes on the other side brought down the forest giant with a crash.

To drag the logs to the chosen spot was harder and took more time than the felling. Then the ends had to be notched, so that they would join perfectly at the corners of the cabin, each log having two feet of extra length to allow room for the notching.

It was thought the Thirty-six would not arrive before the fourth day, and the elder Bradfords agreed that it would be wise to drop work on the cabin on that day,and stake claims along the headwaters of the creek. But alas for human calculations! About noon of the third day, voices were heard in the direction of the river, and presently six of the mysterious party put in an appearance. They were surprised at finding the Bradfords, who, they supposed, had continued northward.

"Hello!" exclaimed a thick-set man with a reddish beard sprinkled with gray,—"how are you, gentlemen? We heard your axes, and thought we should find strangers. You're doing the very thing we've got to do."

"Yes," said Uncle Will, "but how in the world did you get here so soon, Pennock?"

"Oh! we've been working like slaves to get as far as we could before the ice went out. It would freeze a little every night, and we would make a few miles, but in the middle of the day we had to build bridges every few rods. Half a dozen of our men have broken through first and last,—sleds too. We left Patterson, Lewis, Colburn, and Whitney, on the Kah Sha claims, and now we six are ordered to stop here and do some prospecting. The rest will try 'to go on."

"Ah!" said Uncle Will, much relieved by this last information; "so the rest are going on? Well, I'm sorry for them. The ice won't last two days."

"That's true as you live," replied Pennock. "Well, we must get back. We're camped temporarily just below here. Maybe I'll see you again this evening."

"All right," answered Uncle Will. "Come up any time."

"I believe," said Mr. Bradford, as soon as the visitors were gone, "he wants to join forces, at least, in the building of the house."

"I think so too," said Uncle Will. "It wouldn't be a bad idea either. The cabin is easily big enough for all twelve of us. With their help, we can finish it in no time. I even think it would be well to work with them in prospecting, if they are agreeable. Let's see—there are only nine claims to be taken between us. We ought all to be able to get good ones, if there are any."

It was accordingly determined that evening, by conference with Pennock's party, to combine for the present. To prevent disagreements, the details of the arrangement were drawn up in writing, Pennock readily engaging to give the Bradfords first choice of claims, for two reasons,—first, because they were first to arrive, and, second, in consideration of the work they had already done on the cabin.

Next morning, the Bradfords went to the top of the bluff overlooking the river, and saw the main body of the Thirty-six, now reduced to about twenty-five white men, and half a dozen Indians—including Long Peter—resuming their march. After skirting the shore on a fringe of ice for some distance, they made a short cut across a narrow tongue of land, where the snow wasentirely gone and the sleds could only be moved with the severest toil.

"Flesh and blood can't stand that a great while," said Uncle Will; "especially on short rations. They'll have to abandon their sleds soon, and carry what they can on their backs. I wish I knew how far those poor fellows are going."

"They're making a desperate dash for somewhere," said Mr. Bradford, "and their pluck is certainly admirable. I wish them success with all my heart."

"And I too," added Uncle Will, emphatically.

Work on the cabin was resumed as soon as possible, and the walls rose like magic with the increased force of builders. In a few days these were completed. An opening was sawn in the front for a door, and smaller ones in each side for windows, the sawn ends of the logs being held in place by the door-frame and window-frames, which consisted of small hewn strips of spruce wood nailed in place. The roof was now constructed of poles laid side by side from the ridge-logs to the upper logs of the front and rear walls. David and Roly gathered great quantities of green spruce boughs, which were laid on the top of the roof-poles. This proved to be a mistake, but in the hurry of building, nobody thought of it. Later, as soon as these boughs dried, the needles came rattling down through the cracks upon the slightest provocation, and were a great nuisance when cooking wasin progress. A layer of damp moss should first have been spread upon the poles, then the spruce, and finally a thick layer of moss over all. This upper layer was duly applied, and being soft and spongy, contributed in no small degree to the waterproof quality of the roof, which was rather more flat than such a roof should be. As an additional protection against rain, several tents were spread above the moss, and now the cabin was complete, except for the "chinking," and interior furnishings.

"Chinking" is the filling of the cracks between the logs. The boys soon became skilled in this work, and most of it was left for them to do, while the men were engaged in heavier labors. Small dead spruces, slender and straight as bean-poles, were first cut down in large numbers. These were trimmed as nearly as possible to the size and shape of the cracks, and driven firmly into place with the blows of a hatchet. Such crevices as still remained were stuffed with moss and clay.

The door consisted of a light framework of poles, covered with cheese-cloth, of which Pennock had a supply; and the windows were of the same material. Though not transparent, it admitted a goodly amount of light, and promised to keep out insects and the wind.

Within the house, a sheet-iron stove was set up in the opening left for a fire place, which was then enclosed above and on the sides and rear, with poles set close together and chinked, an aperture being left for the stove-pipe.Sleds were so arranged as to form a dining-table and seats.

The boys had set their hearts on building bunks to sleep in. This was approved of by their father and uncle, since it was undoubtedly healthier to be off the ground, and they suggested that two double bunks be built in the southwest corner, large enough to accommodate the four. The boys were left to exercise their own ingenuity in this work, and they succeeded in turning out two very good berths, constructed wholly of spruce poles, and arranged like those of a steamer's stateroom. Soft boughs were spread upon the berths, and then the blankets, in which rude quarters they slept as comfortably as they ever had at home. The upper berth, too, served David as a shelf, upon which to develop his photographs.

This nucleus of a city it was voted to call Pennock's Post.

How refreshing it was, as they surveyed the finished product of their labors, to feel that they had reached their destination, that there was no exhausting journey to be resumed on the morrow, and that at all times they could be sure of a warm, dry resting place with a roof over their heads!

CHAPTER XIXTHE FIRST PROSPECT-HOLEIt was now the first week in May. The snow was entirely gone from the lowlands, melted by the breath of the chinook. The creek was swollen to twice its normal size, and had overflowed its banks in many places, bursting its icy bonds and stranding the ice-cakes high among the bushes. As for the river, that, too, had freed itself, and its muddy current was rising inch by inch. On the mountains they could almost see the snow-line creep higher and higher each day, and soon on the lesser heights no snow remained except in the gullies, giving to the mountains a streaked aspect.Robins and song-sparrows put in an appearance, and ducks were everywhere. On the very first warm day, bees, flies, and a mosquito or two were thawed into life, and hummed and buzzed in the sunshine as if there had never been any winter. In every sandy bluff and bank the ground-squirrels, beautifully mottled little creatures, came out of their holes, and sat up on their haunches as stiff as a ramrod, with their fore-paws demurely folded on their breasts, and sunned themselves and cast curious glances at their new neighbors.Purple crocuses blossomed in abundance, and everywhere grass was growing green and buds were starting. Spring had come!"What do you think of a prospecting trip?" asked Uncle Will of Pennock, one morning. "I believe we can sink a shaft now.""That's a good idea," said Pennock. "The frost ought to be out of the upper soil by this time. If it isn't, we can thaw it with fire.""The one thing I don't like about this place," continued Uncle Will, "is that the creek seems to be deserted. We heard rumors of extraordinary richness here, and if there's any truth in them, there ought to be some signs of life hereabouts.""That's so," admitted Pennock. "It was Cannon who advised the Cap'n to leave a few men here. He said he sunk a hole last year and found gold enough to make it worth while to explore more fully. What really brought our party into this country, though, was a report of a rich strike up above. That's where the rest of them have gone; but I don't know just how far it is.""Well," said Uncle Will, "the stories I heard may have been misleading. We'll see what there is here anyhow, and take our chances. By the way, there's another creek to the southeast yonder, where you see that gully in the mountain. We might send a party there."To this proposition Pennock assented. Accordingly Mr. Bradford and Roly, with Large, Nichols, and the two Indians, set off toward the gully, which was about six miles distant, while Uncle Will, David, Pennock, Reitz, Adair, and Johnson started for the headwaters of the creek beside which they had camped,—a journey of four miles. We may as well follow the fortunes of the latter party.There was no trail worthy of the name, but once or twice hoof-marks were discovered, probably made by Cannon's pack horse the previous season. Sometimes they entered forests of standing spruce and poplar, either growing or fire-killed, and now it was a district of fallen trees, where it was almost impossible to advance, from which they emerged with a sigh of relief into some open grassy meadow near the stream, where walking was pleasant and easy. Presently they ascended a clay bluff a hundred feet high, skirting its edge where it was free from timber. From this vantage ground they could see the snowy peaks of the Dasar-dee-ash Mountains, thirty miles to the south, on the other side of which lay the claims they had taken in April. Uncle Will examined the fine clay of the bluff, and gave it as his opinion that it would make excellent bricks and pottery.In an hour and a half, they came to the foot-hills, where the stream fell noisily over a bed of boulders in a pretty glen. A sharp lookout was kept, but no signsof Cannon's work were seen. At length it was decided to sink a hole on the south bank where a bed of gravel had been deposited by the water. From the nature of the rocks about them, they concluded that bed-rock was not far below the surface. Picks, shovels, and a gold-pan had been brought, and the men took turns at the digging. It was hard work, for many large stones were encountered frozen into their places, and these could only be pried loose at risk of a bent pick. When a depth of twelve inches was reached, Pennock filled the pan with a sample of the gravel, and took it to the stream, while the others, except Adair, who was swinging the pick, gathered around him, eager to know the result of the test. Not a color was found, but there was black sand and in it two small rubies.The discovery of the rubies did not seem to offset the disappointment of the men at finding no gold,—a fact at which David wondered, until his uncle informed him that those gems were quite commonly found in the Northwest, and such small ones were of little value. David resolved, however, to look about for himself, and, in a mound of sand thrown up by ants, he found a dozen or more, some of them a little larger than the ones in the pan. These he carefully picked out, and put in his match-box for safe keeping.Meanwhile, the work in the prospect-hole went steadily on. At a depth of two feet a small color was found, bywhich time it was noon, and work ceased for an hour. By the middle of the afternoon the hole was three feet and a half deep, and solid rock was gained, though toward the last so much water entered that digging was difficult, and bailing had to be resorted to. At the bed-rock, where all their hopes rested, were found a few insignificant colors,—nothing more.Uncle Will, usually so cheerful, was quite downcast at this result. He had heard the rumors of gold from men whom he trusted, and was obliged to conclude that they had themselves been misled. Indeed, it seemed to be one of those instances in which a very small tale, by long travelling and frequent repetition, becomes strangely magnified and distorted. The Thirty-six had detached few men here because the story, as they had heard it, had located the wealth in a different place. Still there might be a good deal of gold on this creek, for a single hole is usually not enough to determine the character of a gulch. At least one more shaft must be sunk where the gravel was deeper, before all hope need be abandoned. Even if worst came to worst, there still remained the Alder Creek claims, and Lucky's nugget.It turned out that the other party, under Mr. Bradford, had met with even less success. Rubies they had found, but not a single color of gold. However, they had not reached bed-rock at the end of the first day.Uncle Will and his companions returned to the cabina few minutes before the others. Seated on the ground outside the door, they found an Indian family, consisting of an old bent squaw, two young women, and a thin, weak-looking young man. The old squaw, evidently the mother of the others, waved her arms in token of welcome as soon as she saw the white men. Then, touching the young man's breast she exclaimed, "Him sick, you savvy?""Sick, is he?" repeated Uncle Will, looking at the pinched features and wasted frame."Sick—yis—you savvy [understand]?" said the squaw."Consumption," said Uncle Will to David. "It's very prevalent among the Indians, and carries off hundreds." Then turning to the old Indian woman he added, "I savvy,—very bad, very sick. Have some tea?""Tea! Yis, yis," answered she, eagerly, for tea is considered a great luxury by the Indians, and this family, dressed in ragged, cast-off clothing, seemed too abjectly poor to buy anything at the trading-post. Indeed, the only food they had was dried salmon, though the man carried an antiquated shot-gun.Uncle Will made some tea, and the natives drank it delightedly in the cabin, which they entered without invitation as soon as the door was opened.It must be explained here that the door was fastenedby a sliding pole which ran some distance along the inner side of one of the front logs, and was held in place by wooden pegs. The pole was shoved across the door by means of a knife-blade inserted from the outside between two logs at a crevice left for the purpose five feet from the door. In this manner the door had been locked that morning when the two parties set off. Doubtless the Indians had tried the door; but finding it secure, and seeing no means of opening it, they had not ventured to break in, but waited for the return of the miners.Both Uncle Will and Pennock realized the desirability of keeping the secret of the lock from the visitors, and this they attempted to do when the door was opened, Uncle Will attracting the attention of the Indians, while Pennock softly stole up to the crevice and pried back the bar.But though the natives did not see the door opened, they intended none the less to know how it was done, and that was why they so promptly entered the cabin with the others. However, the white men thought it best to say nothing, for it might be that they would drink their tea and go out without noticing the door. Pennock, who was a Colorado man and had no liking for the "redskins," kept an eye on them from the moment of their entrance.The old squaw, after a quick inventory of the contents of the cabin, glanced furtively toward the door, and atonce discovered the long bar, but she did not know exactly how it was managed. So presently she shuffled unconcernedly up to the front of the cabin, and, turning about, faced the centre of the room. To all appearances, she was idly leaning against the logs, but both Pennock and David noticed that her hands behind her back were busily fumbling with the bar, and moving it cautiously back and forth. The "game was up." Knowing the existence of the bar, and its height from the ground, she would easily discover from the outside the crevice through which it was controlled."The rascally old witch of an Injun!" muttered Pennock through his teeth; but he knew it was of no use now to make a fuss. He broke out violently, however, when the visitors were gone and it was discovered that a nearly empty butter-can outside the house had disappeared with them."They're all sneak-thieves, every one of 'em," he declared angrily; "and the worst of it is that the old squaw learned the secret of our lock. I saw her fumbling round. Now we've got to leave somebody here every time we go away. I'd just like to—!"This sounded very much like the preface to a dire threat; but Mr. Bradford, who had arrived some minutes previously, interrupted it by observing that the Indians would not be likely to take food or clothing."No," said Uncle Will. "They'll make off withempty cans, or any little thing they think won't be missed, but they wouldn't take goods of value. That's too dangerous in this country. Besides, we've treated them well, and they're pretty low-down creatures if they steal from us now.""All the same," said Pennock, "there was half an inch of good butter in that can, and I was intending to make a coffee cup of it as soon as it was empty. They're a shrewd lot, if they are dirty and ignorant. I hope they've gone for good."It was a vain hope. A little later, a column of smoke half a mile up the trail northward showed that they had camped.

THE FIRST PROSPECT-HOLE

It was now the first week in May. The snow was entirely gone from the lowlands, melted by the breath of the chinook. The creek was swollen to twice its normal size, and had overflowed its banks in many places, bursting its icy bonds and stranding the ice-cakes high among the bushes. As for the river, that, too, had freed itself, and its muddy current was rising inch by inch. On the mountains they could almost see the snow-line creep higher and higher each day, and soon on the lesser heights no snow remained except in the gullies, giving to the mountains a streaked aspect.

Robins and song-sparrows put in an appearance, and ducks were everywhere. On the very first warm day, bees, flies, and a mosquito or two were thawed into life, and hummed and buzzed in the sunshine as if there had never been any winter. In every sandy bluff and bank the ground-squirrels, beautifully mottled little creatures, came out of their holes, and sat up on their haunches as stiff as a ramrod, with their fore-paws demurely folded on their breasts, and sunned themselves and cast curious glances at their new neighbors.

Purple crocuses blossomed in abundance, and everywhere grass was growing green and buds were starting. Spring had come!

"What do you think of a prospecting trip?" asked Uncle Will of Pennock, one morning. "I believe we can sink a shaft now."

"That's a good idea," said Pennock. "The frost ought to be out of the upper soil by this time. If it isn't, we can thaw it with fire."

"The one thing I don't like about this place," continued Uncle Will, "is that the creek seems to be deserted. We heard rumors of extraordinary richness here, and if there's any truth in them, there ought to be some signs of life hereabouts."

"That's so," admitted Pennock. "It was Cannon who advised the Cap'n to leave a few men here. He said he sunk a hole last year and found gold enough to make it worth while to explore more fully. What really brought our party into this country, though, was a report of a rich strike up above. That's where the rest of them have gone; but I don't know just how far it is."

"Well," said Uncle Will, "the stories I heard may have been misleading. We'll see what there is here anyhow, and take our chances. By the way, there's another creek to the southeast yonder, where you see that gully in the mountain. We might send a party there."

To this proposition Pennock assented. Accordingly Mr. Bradford and Roly, with Large, Nichols, and the two Indians, set off toward the gully, which was about six miles distant, while Uncle Will, David, Pennock, Reitz, Adair, and Johnson started for the headwaters of the creek beside which they had camped,—a journey of four miles. We may as well follow the fortunes of the latter party.

There was no trail worthy of the name, but once or twice hoof-marks were discovered, probably made by Cannon's pack horse the previous season. Sometimes they entered forests of standing spruce and poplar, either growing or fire-killed, and now it was a district of fallen trees, where it was almost impossible to advance, from which they emerged with a sigh of relief into some open grassy meadow near the stream, where walking was pleasant and easy. Presently they ascended a clay bluff a hundred feet high, skirting its edge where it was free from timber. From this vantage ground they could see the snowy peaks of the Dasar-dee-ash Mountains, thirty miles to the south, on the other side of which lay the claims they had taken in April. Uncle Will examined the fine clay of the bluff, and gave it as his opinion that it would make excellent bricks and pottery.

In an hour and a half, they came to the foot-hills, where the stream fell noisily over a bed of boulders in a pretty glen. A sharp lookout was kept, but no signsof Cannon's work were seen. At length it was decided to sink a hole on the south bank where a bed of gravel had been deposited by the water. From the nature of the rocks about them, they concluded that bed-rock was not far below the surface. Picks, shovels, and a gold-pan had been brought, and the men took turns at the digging. It was hard work, for many large stones were encountered frozen into their places, and these could only be pried loose at risk of a bent pick. When a depth of twelve inches was reached, Pennock filled the pan with a sample of the gravel, and took it to the stream, while the others, except Adair, who was swinging the pick, gathered around him, eager to know the result of the test. Not a color was found, but there was black sand and in it two small rubies.

The discovery of the rubies did not seem to offset the disappointment of the men at finding no gold,—a fact at which David wondered, until his uncle informed him that those gems were quite commonly found in the Northwest, and such small ones were of little value. David resolved, however, to look about for himself, and, in a mound of sand thrown up by ants, he found a dozen or more, some of them a little larger than the ones in the pan. These he carefully picked out, and put in his match-box for safe keeping.

Meanwhile, the work in the prospect-hole went steadily on. At a depth of two feet a small color was found, bywhich time it was noon, and work ceased for an hour. By the middle of the afternoon the hole was three feet and a half deep, and solid rock was gained, though toward the last so much water entered that digging was difficult, and bailing had to be resorted to. At the bed-rock, where all their hopes rested, were found a few insignificant colors,—nothing more.

Uncle Will, usually so cheerful, was quite downcast at this result. He had heard the rumors of gold from men whom he trusted, and was obliged to conclude that they had themselves been misled. Indeed, it seemed to be one of those instances in which a very small tale, by long travelling and frequent repetition, becomes strangely magnified and distorted. The Thirty-six had detached few men here because the story, as they had heard it, had located the wealth in a different place. Still there might be a good deal of gold on this creek, for a single hole is usually not enough to determine the character of a gulch. At least one more shaft must be sunk where the gravel was deeper, before all hope need be abandoned. Even if worst came to worst, there still remained the Alder Creek claims, and Lucky's nugget.

It turned out that the other party, under Mr. Bradford, had met with even less success. Rubies they had found, but not a single color of gold. However, they had not reached bed-rock at the end of the first day.

Uncle Will and his companions returned to the cabina few minutes before the others. Seated on the ground outside the door, they found an Indian family, consisting of an old bent squaw, two young women, and a thin, weak-looking young man. The old squaw, evidently the mother of the others, waved her arms in token of welcome as soon as she saw the white men. Then, touching the young man's breast she exclaimed, "Him sick, you savvy?"

"Sick, is he?" repeated Uncle Will, looking at the pinched features and wasted frame.

"Sick—yis—you savvy [understand]?" said the squaw.

"Consumption," said Uncle Will to David. "It's very prevalent among the Indians, and carries off hundreds." Then turning to the old Indian woman he added, "I savvy,—very bad, very sick. Have some tea?"

"Tea! Yis, yis," answered she, eagerly, for tea is considered a great luxury by the Indians, and this family, dressed in ragged, cast-off clothing, seemed too abjectly poor to buy anything at the trading-post. Indeed, the only food they had was dried salmon, though the man carried an antiquated shot-gun.

Uncle Will made some tea, and the natives drank it delightedly in the cabin, which they entered without invitation as soon as the door was opened.

It must be explained here that the door was fastenedby a sliding pole which ran some distance along the inner side of one of the front logs, and was held in place by wooden pegs. The pole was shoved across the door by means of a knife-blade inserted from the outside between two logs at a crevice left for the purpose five feet from the door. In this manner the door had been locked that morning when the two parties set off. Doubtless the Indians had tried the door; but finding it secure, and seeing no means of opening it, they had not ventured to break in, but waited for the return of the miners.

Both Uncle Will and Pennock realized the desirability of keeping the secret of the lock from the visitors, and this they attempted to do when the door was opened, Uncle Will attracting the attention of the Indians, while Pennock softly stole up to the crevice and pried back the bar.

But though the natives did not see the door opened, they intended none the less to know how it was done, and that was why they so promptly entered the cabin with the others. However, the white men thought it best to say nothing, for it might be that they would drink their tea and go out without noticing the door. Pennock, who was a Colorado man and had no liking for the "redskins," kept an eye on them from the moment of their entrance.

The old squaw, after a quick inventory of the contents of the cabin, glanced furtively toward the door, and atonce discovered the long bar, but she did not know exactly how it was managed. So presently she shuffled unconcernedly up to the front of the cabin, and, turning about, faced the centre of the room. To all appearances, she was idly leaning against the logs, but both Pennock and David noticed that her hands behind her back were busily fumbling with the bar, and moving it cautiously back and forth. The "game was up." Knowing the existence of the bar, and its height from the ground, she would easily discover from the outside the crevice through which it was controlled.

"The rascally old witch of an Injun!" muttered Pennock through his teeth; but he knew it was of no use now to make a fuss. He broke out violently, however, when the visitors were gone and it was discovered that a nearly empty butter-can outside the house had disappeared with them.

"They're all sneak-thieves, every one of 'em," he declared angrily; "and the worst of it is that the old squaw learned the secret of our lock. I saw her fumbling round. Now we've got to leave somebody here every time we go away. I'd just like to—!"

This sounded very much like the preface to a dire threat; but Mr. Bradford, who had arrived some minutes previously, interrupted it by observing that the Indians would not be likely to take food or clothing.

"No," said Uncle Will. "They'll make off withempty cans, or any little thing they think won't be missed, but they wouldn't take goods of value. That's too dangerous in this country. Besides, we've treated them well, and they're pretty low-down creatures if they steal from us now."

"All the same," said Pennock, "there was half an inch of good butter in that can, and I was intending to make a coffee cup of it as soon as it was empty. They're a shrewd lot, if they are dirty and ignorant. I hope they've gone for good."

It was a vain hope. A little later, a column of smoke half a mile up the trail northward showed that they had camped.

CHAPTER XXROLY GOES DUCK-HUNTINGFor many days, no game of any kind had been secured in abundance, and Uncle Will, who saw the pork and bacon disappearing too rapidly, cast about for some means of eking out the supplies. With this end in view, he prevailed upon his brother to let Roly spend a day in hunting, knowing full well that nothing would please the lad more. Roly had been careful with the shot-gun, and had fairly earned this privilege.The days in that high latitude were now so long that, even at midnight, there was a twilight glow over the summits of Father and Son in the north. At three in the morning, it was broad daylight, and Roly, as he awoke into delightful anticipations, heard the "quack, quack" of big brown mallards, and the whistling wings of smaller ducks, as they flew to their feeding grounds. He was out of the bunk in an instant, and slipping on his jacket and long rubber boots, which, with his cap, were the only articles needed to complete his attire, he snatched a hasty breakfast, put a piece of corn-bread in his pocket, and then, gun in hand, softly opened the cabin door, andstole out into the fresh morning air. The joy of youth was in his heart, and a sense of freedom and adventure came with the thought of hunting all alone in that great wide valley, and made the blood tingle to his finger-tips.There were ponds and marshes in every direction, but Roly decided to cross the river and walk southward, for he observed several ducks flying that way. He therefore made his way down the face of the bluff, through the sliding sand to the river-bank, where a raft of three logs had been moored. Loosing this unwieldy craft, he laid the unloaded gun upon it, then seized the long push-pole, and sprang on board. It required considerable effort to free the lower end of the raft from the mud, but finally it swung out into the stream. Roly pushed and paddled lustily for some moments before he succeeded in urging the heavy affair to the farther shore, for the current was strong and carried him down the stream fully two hundred yards. He fastened the raft to a clump of alders, picked up the gun, and set off up the stream to the south, keeping a sharp lookout for any kind of game.After penetrating a tangled thicket, he saw that he was coming out upon a long, open swamp. There might be ducks here, and he paused to look carefully at two or three pools which gleamed at some distance. Seeing nothing, however, he skirted the edge of the swamp to the higher wooded land beyond, where he was startledby the sudden chattering of a red squirrel in a spruce over his head. He could have shot the squirrel easily, but felt it would be unmanly to kill any creature wantonly. The little animal was too small to have much value as food, and, besides, cartridges were precious. So he passed on, in the hope of seeing larger game.On every sandy bank the ground-squirrels sat, and while they were larger than the red squirrels, they were very lean after their long winter sleep. They were plentiful near the cabin, and Roly thought he could catch them with traps or snares, as soon as they were in better condition. For the present, therefore, the ground-squirrels were also left in peace.Everywhere were traces of rabbits, but no rabbits were to be seen. Lucky had explained this one day by saying, "Rabbit come bime-by—plenty rabbit—all gone now,"—which Mr. Bradford interpreted to mean that the animals migrated from place to place, and at some seasons would, no doubt, fairly overrun the country, while at other times they would be very scarce.At length Roly caught a glimpse of a long, swampy pond between the trees ahead, and on its smooth surface, near the centre, he could see three ducks, one small, the others larger and of a dark-brown color,—doubtless mallards. Hardly had he made this discovery, and paused to consider how he should approach, when up flew two little ducks, one variegated, and the other an even brown,—themale and female,—from a near arm of the pond which had escaped his notice. The boy trembled, lest the other three should also be alarmed; but they went on dipping their bills under the water quite unconcernedly, while the small one occasionally dived.Near the bank stood a green spruce, the branches of which came thickly down to the ground on the side toward the water, forming a splendid cover. Roly thought that if he could only reach this tree, it would be an easy matter to bag a duck or two, so he started cautiously on tiptoe, keeping the tree between himself and the birds. But there were many dry twigs and little bushes in the space over which he had to pass, and the two mallards—most wary of Alaskan ducks—presently took alarm at the almost imperceptible crackling on the shore. Up they flew, quacking loudly, and making a wide sweep in Roly's direction, so that he felt sure he could have shot one of them on the wing. Indeed, he would have tried it, had not his father given strict orders to the contrary. Cartridges were too precious here to be spent on experiments. Roly had never practised wing-shooting, and his father knew he would waste a great deal of ammunition before acquiring the knack. Where sport was the object, not food, and ammunition was plentiful, Mr. Bradford would have advised his son to shoot only at birds on the wing, that being more sportsmanlike, and giving the birds a chance. But here itwas simply a matter of food, and every cartridge must count.Roly, therefore, after one longing look at the now distant mallards, crept up under the tree, and, kneeling on the moss, took aim through an opening in the branches at the small duck, which seemed much less timid than the others, though it had paddled a short distance toward the farther shore. There was a puff of smoke, and the report rang out sharply on the still morning air. The duck flopped once or twice, then lay motionless on the water, on perceiving which, Roly executed an immediate triumphal war-dance under the tree.It was now a question whether the pleased youngster could secure his prize. The wind was too light to blow it ashore, and the longest pole he could use would not be long enough. The water looked dark and deep, but at least he would try it; so, pulling up his rubber boots to their full length, he stepped carefully out into the pond. To his surprise, he found that the mud on the bottom was solidly frozen, and the water was nowhere more than two feet deep. The duck was therefore quickly reached and brought back to the tree, where the young hunter ambushed himself again to await developments.He now bethought him of the empty shell in his gun, and had hardly thrown it out, preparatory to snapping another into place, when two fine mallards appeared fromthe southward, and plumped heavily down upon the water, not thirty feet from his hiding place. Alas that, ofalltimes, the cartridge should stick atthatgolden moment! But stick it did, refusing to go in, or even to come out again. Roly fairly bit his lips with vexation, and tugged with nervous fingers at the mechanism of the breech, keeping an eye on the ducks all the while, and trying to be as quiet as possible. It was all to no purpose. A bit of dirt had found its way in somewhere, and he had to shake the gun violently before the cartridge would move. The mallards could not be expected to turn a deaf ear to this commotion. They raised their heads, and then with one impulse fluttered up and away, and poor Roly nearly cried, as the obstinate cartridge slipped easily in, ere the birds were fairly out of sight.It was yet early, however, and the lad knew that he had only to wait patiently, to find another chance. He could occasionally hear the whistle of wings as a flock flew past, and sometimes he could see the birds from his covert. He had watched and waited a half hour, when four ducks settled down at the remote end of the pond. They were out of range, but soon began to come closer. Two were like those he had first frightened from the narrow arm of the marsh, small in size, the male brightly plumaged, the female a smooth brown. It was a male of this species which he had shot. The other two seemed much larger, but in other respects almost exactly liketheir companions. They kept quite near each other, and splashed or dived unconscious of danger.Roly watched his opportunity, hoping they would bunch together, so that he might kill more than one at a shot. He had not long to wait. As they came in range, the two larger birds and the smaller female were exactly in line, one beyond another. It was the favorable moment. He aimed at the middle one and fired.The small male duck, which had been out of the line, seemed bewildered rather than frightened by the noise. He dived, came up at a distance, and paddled away without taking flight. The two larger birds were instantly killed, while the small female beyond was crippled, and fluttered around in a circle. Roly felt justified in using another cartridge at once to put her out of suffering. Then he waded out and brought in his prizes, the fourth duck having escaped into the swamp-grass.He wondered if the others back at the cabin had heard the shots. It was not unlikely, for they would be stirring by this time. Having seated himself again, he fell to thinking over the strange life he had been leading for the past two months, so different from that at home. His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a fine mallard, which was bagged without delay.No more ducks visited the pond, though he waited until the middle of the morning, when they ceased flying. He therefore prepared to return. The legs of the birds weretied together, and they were slung over the barrel of the gun, which he then raised to his shoulder, and found he had something of a burden.But he was destined to carry still more. He had not proceeded far when he heard the clucking of a ptarmigan in the woods to his left, so leaving the ducks where he could easily find them, he stole softly in the direction of the sound. The clucking soon seemed very near,—so near that he did not dare to go a step farther, for fear of frightening the bird, but, look as he would, he could see nothing of it. He scanned the ground for a glimpse of white, forgetting entirely that the ptarmigan becomes brown when the snow disappears, and was just giving up in despair when he sighted the bird perched on the dead branch of a tree across a little glen. And, what was better, there were two in the tree. Roly manœuvred till he had the birds in line, and it was such an easy shot that both fell stone dead at once, amid a shower of feathers."Well done, Roly, my boy!" said Mr. Bradford, heartily, when the prospectors returned late that afternoon and found Roly's bunch of birds. "Let's see, here's a mallard, two golden-eyes, two little butter-balls, and two ptarmigan,—seven birds in all. And how many shots did you fire?""Five," said Roly, with pardonable pride. "There were no large flocks to fire into, but I meant to make every shot tell.""Yes," said his father, "and you've done very well, especially for a beginner.""And how many did you get, Johnson?" asked Uncle Will. Johnson had been on a similar errand for the other party."Five ducks and a white rabbit," was the reply. "On the whole, Roly has carried off the honors, for I fired six shots."So the campers obtained fresh meat, and all were very glad to abstain awhile from bacon. Both Roly and David went duck-hunting often after that, and always with good success throughout the migrating season.

ROLY GOES DUCK-HUNTING

For many days, no game of any kind had been secured in abundance, and Uncle Will, who saw the pork and bacon disappearing too rapidly, cast about for some means of eking out the supplies. With this end in view, he prevailed upon his brother to let Roly spend a day in hunting, knowing full well that nothing would please the lad more. Roly had been careful with the shot-gun, and had fairly earned this privilege.

The days in that high latitude were now so long that, even at midnight, there was a twilight glow over the summits of Father and Son in the north. At three in the morning, it was broad daylight, and Roly, as he awoke into delightful anticipations, heard the "quack, quack" of big brown mallards, and the whistling wings of smaller ducks, as they flew to their feeding grounds. He was out of the bunk in an instant, and slipping on his jacket and long rubber boots, which, with his cap, were the only articles needed to complete his attire, he snatched a hasty breakfast, put a piece of corn-bread in his pocket, and then, gun in hand, softly opened the cabin door, andstole out into the fresh morning air. The joy of youth was in his heart, and a sense of freedom and adventure came with the thought of hunting all alone in that great wide valley, and made the blood tingle to his finger-tips.

There were ponds and marshes in every direction, but Roly decided to cross the river and walk southward, for he observed several ducks flying that way. He therefore made his way down the face of the bluff, through the sliding sand to the river-bank, where a raft of three logs had been moored. Loosing this unwieldy craft, he laid the unloaded gun upon it, then seized the long push-pole, and sprang on board. It required considerable effort to free the lower end of the raft from the mud, but finally it swung out into the stream. Roly pushed and paddled lustily for some moments before he succeeded in urging the heavy affair to the farther shore, for the current was strong and carried him down the stream fully two hundred yards. He fastened the raft to a clump of alders, picked up the gun, and set off up the stream to the south, keeping a sharp lookout for any kind of game.

After penetrating a tangled thicket, he saw that he was coming out upon a long, open swamp. There might be ducks here, and he paused to look carefully at two or three pools which gleamed at some distance. Seeing nothing, however, he skirted the edge of the swamp to the higher wooded land beyond, where he was startledby the sudden chattering of a red squirrel in a spruce over his head. He could have shot the squirrel easily, but felt it would be unmanly to kill any creature wantonly. The little animal was too small to have much value as food, and, besides, cartridges were precious. So he passed on, in the hope of seeing larger game.

On every sandy bank the ground-squirrels sat, and while they were larger than the red squirrels, they were very lean after their long winter sleep. They were plentiful near the cabin, and Roly thought he could catch them with traps or snares, as soon as they were in better condition. For the present, therefore, the ground-squirrels were also left in peace.

Everywhere were traces of rabbits, but no rabbits were to be seen. Lucky had explained this one day by saying, "Rabbit come bime-by—plenty rabbit—all gone now,"—which Mr. Bradford interpreted to mean that the animals migrated from place to place, and at some seasons would, no doubt, fairly overrun the country, while at other times they would be very scarce.

At length Roly caught a glimpse of a long, swampy pond between the trees ahead, and on its smooth surface, near the centre, he could see three ducks, one small, the others larger and of a dark-brown color,—doubtless mallards. Hardly had he made this discovery, and paused to consider how he should approach, when up flew two little ducks, one variegated, and the other an even brown,—themale and female,—from a near arm of the pond which had escaped his notice. The boy trembled, lest the other three should also be alarmed; but they went on dipping their bills under the water quite unconcernedly, while the small one occasionally dived.

Near the bank stood a green spruce, the branches of which came thickly down to the ground on the side toward the water, forming a splendid cover. Roly thought that if he could only reach this tree, it would be an easy matter to bag a duck or two, so he started cautiously on tiptoe, keeping the tree between himself and the birds. But there were many dry twigs and little bushes in the space over which he had to pass, and the two mallards—most wary of Alaskan ducks—presently took alarm at the almost imperceptible crackling on the shore. Up they flew, quacking loudly, and making a wide sweep in Roly's direction, so that he felt sure he could have shot one of them on the wing. Indeed, he would have tried it, had not his father given strict orders to the contrary. Cartridges were too precious here to be spent on experiments. Roly had never practised wing-shooting, and his father knew he would waste a great deal of ammunition before acquiring the knack. Where sport was the object, not food, and ammunition was plentiful, Mr. Bradford would have advised his son to shoot only at birds on the wing, that being more sportsmanlike, and giving the birds a chance. But here itwas simply a matter of food, and every cartridge must count.

Roly, therefore, after one longing look at the now distant mallards, crept up under the tree, and, kneeling on the moss, took aim through an opening in the branches at the small duck, which seemed much less timid than the others, though it had paddled a short distance toward the farther shore. There was a puff of smoke, and the report rang out sharply on the still morning air. The duck flopped once or twice, then lay motionless on the water, on perceiving which, Roly executed an immediate triumphal war-dance under the tree.

It was now a question whether the pleased youngster could secure his prize. The wind was too light to blow it ashore, and the longest pole he could use would not be long enough. The water looked dark and deep, but at least he would try it; so, pulling up his rubber boots to their full length, he stepped carefully out into the pond. To his surprise, he found that the mud on the bottom was solidly frozen, and the water was nowhere more than two feet deep. The duck was therefore quickly reached and brought back to the tree, where the young hunter ambushed himself again to await developments.

He now bethought him of the empty shell in his gun, and had hardly thrown it out, preparatory to snapping another into place, when two fine mallards appeared fromthe southward, and plumped heavily down upon the water, not thirty feet from his hiding place. Alas that, ofalltimes, the cartridge should stick atthatgolden moment! But stick it did, refusing to go in, or even to come out again. Roly fairly bit his lips with vexation, and tugged with nervous fingers at the mechanism of the breech, keeping an eye on the ducks all the while, and trying to be as quiet as possible. It was all to no purpose. A bit of dirt had found its way in somewhere, and he had to shake the gun violently before the cartridge would move. The mallards could not be expected to turn a deaf ear to this commotion. They raised their heads, and then with one impulse fluttered up and away, and poor Roly nearly cried, as the obstinate cartridge slipped easily in, ere the birds were fairly out of sight.

It was yet early, however, and the lad knew that he had only to wait patiently, to find another chance. He could occasionally hear the whistle of wings as a flock flew past, and sometimes he could see the birds from his covert. He had watched and waited a half hour, when four ducks settled down at the remote end of the pond. They were out of range, but soon began to come closer. Two were like those he had first frightened from the narrow arm of the marsh, small in size, the male brightly plumaged, the female a smooth brown. It was a male of this species which he had shot. The other two seemed much larger, but in other respects almost exactly liketheir companions. They kept quite near each other, and splashed or dived unconscious of danger.

Roly watched his opportunity, hoping they would bunch together, so that he might kill more than one at a shot. He had not long to wait. As they came in range, the two larger birds and the smaller female were exactly in line, one beyond another. It was the favorable moment. He aimed at the middle one and fired.

The small male duck, which had been out of the line, seemed bewildered rather than frightened by the noise. He dived, came up at a distance, and paddled away without taking flight. The two larger birds were instantly killed, while the small female beyond was crippled, and fluttered around in a circle. Roly felt justified in using another cartridge at once to put her out of suffering. Then he waded out and brought in his prizes, the fourth duck having escaped into the swamp-grass.

He wondered if the others back at the cabin had heard the shots. It was not unlikely, for they would be stirring by this time. Having seated himself again, he fell to thinking over the strange life he had been leading for the past two months, so different from that at home. His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a fine mallard, which was bagged without delay.

No more ducks visited the pond, though he waited until the middle of the morning, when they ceased flying. He therefore prepared to return. The legs of the birds weretied together, and they were slung over the barrel of the gun, which he then raised to his shoulder, and found he had something of a burden.

But he was destined to carry still more. He had not proceeded far when he heard the clucking of a ptarmigan in the woods to his left, so leaving the ducks where he could easily find them, he stole softly in the direction of the sound. The clucking soon seemed very near,—so near that he did not dare to go a step farther, for fear of frightening the bird, but, look as he would, he could see nothing of it. He scanned the ground for a glimpse of white, forgetting entirely that the ptarmigan becomes brown when the snow disappears, and was just giving up in despair when he sighted the bird perched on the dead branch of a tree across a little glen. And, what was better, there were two in the tree. Roly manœuvred till he had the birds in line, and it was such an easy shot that both fell stone dead at once, amid a shower of feathers.

"Well done, Roly, my boy!" said Mr. Bradford, heartily, when the prospectors returned late that afternoon and found Roly's bunch of birds. "Let's see, here's a mallard, two golden-eyes, two little butter-balls, and two ptarmigan,—seven birds in all. And how many shots did you fire?"

"Five," said Roly, with pardonable pride. "There were no large flocks to fire into, but I meant to make every shot tell."

"Yes," said his father, "and you've done very well, especially for a beginner."

"And how many did you get, Johnson?" asked Uncle Will. Johnson had been on a similar errand for the other party.

"Five ducks and a white rabbit," was the reply. "On the whole, Roly has carried off the honors, for I fired six shots."

So the campers obtained fresh meat, and all were very glad to abstain awhile from bacon. Both Roly and David went duck-hunting often after that, and always with good success throughout the migrating season.

CHAPTER XXILAST DAYS AT PENNOCK'S POSTThe Indian family hung about the premises more or less, hoping, no doubt, for more tea or another butter-can. They set steel traps in the neighboring sand-banks, and caught many ground-squirrels, some of which they offered to the white men for twenty-five cents a pair; but while ducks, ptarmigan, and occasionally a wild swan or rabbit could be shot, no one was inclined to buy. David and Roly thought, however, that it would do no harm to catch ground-squirrels for themselves, and they set about making snares.These were simple, and consisted of a strong but slender willow branch, fixed firmly in the bank high above the hole in a nearly horizontal position, a stronger stick similarly set between the other and the hole, and a piece of string with a slip-noose at one end. The other end of the string was tied to the extremity of the upper willow branch, which was then bent down until the noose hung over the hole. A small loop, slipped over the point of the lower stick, held the noose in position.All being ready, it was expected that Mr. Squirrel, coming out to take an airing, would run his head throughthe noose, carrying it along with him until the loop slipped from the lower stick, thus releasing the elastic upper stick, which would jerk poor Mr. Squirrel into the air, and hang him for no greater fault than his ignorance. The theory was perfect, but in practice Mr. Squirrel displayed more cleverness than he had been given credit for. Sometimes he pushed the noose aside, and again he would slip through it, and though occasionally a snare was sprung, the denizens of the sand-bank always managed to get away.The boys therefore decided to try to buy two traps from the Indians; and one day, when the whole family was present, David gave them to understand by signs what was wanted. He shut his hands together with a snap, then held up two fingers. The old squaw quickly nodded her head, and jabbered some unintelligible gutturals, which might have been taken for a fit of choking, but it was evident that she was willing to sell two traps, and on the following day she brought them."Probably," said David, as he gave her two fifty-cent pieces, "she is giving me the oldest and rustiest she has.""Yes," said Pennock, "you can depend upon that. Better see if they'll work, before you buy 'em."The boys therefore snapped them once or twice, to make sure that they were in order."Now," said Roly, "we must get her to show us how to set them in the holes,"—whereupon he made a numberof signs, which she quickly comprehended. She took the traps to the nearest hole and placed them in the entrance, covering them with dry grass, so that the animals would not hesitate to walk over them. The traps proved so old and worn that very few squirrels were caught at first, but Mr. Bradford doctored them one day with a file, after which they were quite effective.Not many days later, the old squaw fell ill, and her consumptive son and one of her daughters came down in haste to the cabin, in the hope that the white men would aid them. It chanced that no one was at home but Pennock, he who most of all detested the Indians.The young woman, by signs and the few English words she knew, made known the state of the case, and urged the white man to come in person, while her brother, with a sweep of the hand toward the east, repeated the word "gold" over and over. He well knew what white men most covet. Pennock, however, did not believe the Indian knew any more about gold than he did. Furthermore, he was not a medical man, and felt that he could do no good by visiting the patient. But he made out that the trouble was a cough, and so without more ado he looked over his slender stock of medicines and picked out a mustard plaster, which he gave to the young woman, showing her by signs to dampen it and lay it on her mother's chest. The two Indians appeared genuinely grateful for the plaster, and offered fifty cents in payment,which of course Pennock refused. So they went off with light hearts, to try the white man's remedy."Ah!" exclaimed Uncle Will later, when Pennock related what he had done; "for all your blustering the other day, you've a soft spot under your waistcoat, I see. That's what I call returning good for evil.""Maybe it was," said Pennock. "I couldn't refuse the poor wretches."Whether the mustard plaster proved effective or not, the dwellers in the cabin never knew, for a day or two later the Indians disappeared, probably continuing their journey toward Hootchi, a Stik village fifty miles to the north.For a time nothing was learned of the fortunes of the large party which had toiled down the valley in April, beyond the fact that they had not been able to drag their sleds more than three miles. This news was brought by one of their number, who said that the sleds and most of the goods had been cached, and he had been left in charge. The others had taken from fifty to one hundred and twenty-five pounds, according to their size and strength, and had pushed ahead.A few small bands of Indians visited the cabin, but as they came from the south they had no news of the gold-seekers. With one of these bands were two dogs of moderate size, staggering under loads of forty and fifty pounds, while their lazy masters carried absolutely nothingbut the clothes they wore. Another party brought fresh whitefish, which they bartered for flour and coffee. Four cups of flour and a pound of coffee were accepted in exchange for seven fish, and both parties seemed pleased with the bargain.This incident prompted the Bradford boys to fish in the creek and river, but they met with no success, and concluded that it was yet too early. Coffee Jack, however, made a most welcome contribution to the larder one day, by coming in with his hat full of duck's eggs, which he had found in a swamp.At last, on the fifteenth of May, the leader of the Thirty-six returned with five white men and four Indians. Some of them were so worn with hunger and fatigue as to be hardly recognizable, and all were utterly discouraged. Their hopes were dispelled; they had found no gold.The big party had advanced more than fifty miles with their heavy loads, and had built two cabins to serve as starting-points for further explorations. The men who had remained there would have to draw on the cache near Pennock's Post very soon, and the leader had given them orders to raft these supplies down the river twenty-five miles to the point where the stream turned westward from the trail, and there establish a storehouse. Meanwhile, those with the captain were to go to the Kah Sha River claims and help the four who had been originallyleft there. The captain himself intended to go to Pyramid Harbor with the Indians, and bring in a fresh supply of provisions on pack horses, as soon as there was grass enough along the trail for the subsistence of the animals.The men were given a hearty supper at Pennock's, for they sorely needed it. Indeed, they declared it was the first "square meal" they had enjoyed in two weeks. After a good night's rest and breakfast, they resumed their journey in better spirits.Five days later came a startling piece of information. Mr. Bratnober, a mining man well known on the Dalton trail, with a young man named Onderdonk and two Indian packers, stopped at the cabin on his way north. He said that war had broken out between the United States and Spain in April, and that Admiral Dewey had won a great victory at Manila.As may be imagined, this news wrought David and Roly up to the highest pitch of excitement."Just think," said they,—"war for a month, and we didn't know it!"For a moment, they almost regretted that they had come to such a far country, and they thought longingly of the stirring times at home. Their father and uncle were also much moved, and their first impulse was to drop everything and hasten back,—the one to protect his family, the other to enter the army or navy. But as they talked the matter over, they saw there was little likelihoodthat the Spaniards could effect a landing on the American coast; and as to Uncle Will's enlistment, though that would have just suited his roving temperament, he decided, upon his brother's urgent request, to await fuller information. All agreed, however, that it would be wise to return at once to the Kah Sha River, a distance of thirty-five miles.There were several reasons for this move. The first and most imperative was the fact that their provisions at Pennock's would last but one week more. In the second place, they had demonstrated to their entire satisfaction that there was no gold worth mining in that vicinity, and the Thirty-six had found none farther north. Thirdly, there certainlywasgold on their Alder Creek claims, and Lucky's nugget was probably now uncovered. Finally, they would be within thirty miles of Dalton's Post, and likely to hear more news from incoming prospectors.

LAST DAYS AT PENNOCK'S POST

The Indian family hung about the premises more or less, hoping, no doubt, for more tea or another butter-can. They set steel traps in the neighboring sand-banks, and caught many ground-squirrels, some of which they offered to the white men for twenty-five cents a pair; but while ducks, ptarmigan, and occasionally a wild swan or rabbit could be shot, no one was inclined to buy. David and Roly thought, however, that it would do no harm to catch ground-squirrels for themselves, and they set about making snares.

These were simple, and consisted of a strong but slender willow branch, fixed firmly in the bank high above the hole in a nearly horizontal position, a stronger stick similarly set between the other and the hole, and a piece of string with a slip-noose at one end. The other end of the string was tied to the extremity of the upper willow branch, which was then bent down until the noose hung over the hole. A small loop, slipped over the point of the lower stick, held the noose in position.

All being ready, it was expected that Mr. Squirrel, coming out to take an airing, would run his head throughthe noose, carrying it along with him until the loop slipped from the lower stick, thus releasing the elastic upper stick, which would jerk poor Mr. Squirrel into the air, and hang him for no greater fault than his ignorance. The theory was perfect, but in practice Mr. Squirrel displayed more cleverness than he had been given credit for. Sometimes he pushed the noose aside, and again he would slip through it, and though occasionally a snare was sprung, the denizens of the sand-bank always managed to get away.

The boys therefore decided to try to buy two traps from the Indians; and one day, when the whole family was present, David gave them to understand by signs what was wanted. He shut his hands together with a snap, then held up two fingers. The old squaw quickly nodded her head, and jabbered some unintelligible gutturals, which might have been taken for a fit of choking, but it was evident that she was willing to sell two traps, and on the following day she brought them.

"Probably," said David, as he gave her two fifty-cent pieces, "she is giving me the oldest and rustiest she has."

"Yes," said Pennock, "you can depend upon that. Better see if they'll work, before you buy 'em."

The boys therefore snapped them once or twice, to make sure that they were in order.

"Now," said Roly, "we must get her to show us how to set them in the holes,"—whereupon he made a numberof signs, which she quickly comprehended. She took the traps to the nearest hole and placed them in the entrance, covering them with dry grass, so that the animals would not hesitate to walk over them. The traps proved so old and worn that very few squirrels were caught at first, but Mr. Bradford doctored them one day with a file, after which they were quite effective.

Not many days later, the old squaw fell ill, and her consumptive son and one of her daughters came down in haste to the cabin, in the hope that the white men would aid them. It chanced that no one was at home but Pennock, he who most of all detested the Indians.

The young woman, by signs and the few English words she knew, made known the state of the case, and urged the white man to come in person, while her brother, with a sweep of the hand toward the east, repeated the word "gold" over and over. He well knew what white men most covet. Pennock, however, did not believe the Indian knew any more about gold than he did. Furthermore, he was not a medical man, and felt that he could do no good by visiting the patient. But he made out that the trouble was a cough, and so without more ado he looked over his slender stock of medicines and picked out a mustard plaster, which he gave to the young woman, showing her by signs to dampen it and lay it on her mother's chest. The two Indians appeared genuinely grateful for the plaster, and offered fifty cents in payment,which of course Pennock refused. So they went off with light hearts, to try the white man's remedy.

"Ah!" exclaimed Uncle Will later, when Pennock related what he had done; "for all your blustering the other day, you've a soft spot under your waistcoat, I see. That's what I call returning good for evil."

"Maybe it was," said Pennock. "I couldn't refuse the poor wretches."

Whether the mustard plaster proved effective or not, the dwellers in the cabin never knew, for a day or two later the Indians disappeared, probably continuing their journey toward Hootchi, a Stik village fifty miles to the north.

For a time nothing was learned of the fortunes of the large party which had toiled down the valley in April, beyond the fact that they had not been able to drag their sleds more than three miles. This news was brought by one of their number, who said that the sleds and most of the goods had been cached, and he had been left in charge. The others had taken from fifty to one hundred and twenty-five pounds, according to their size and strength, and had pushed ahead.

A few small bands of Indians visited the cabin, but as they came from the south they had no news of the gold-seekers. With one of these bands were two dogs of moderate size, staggering under loads of forty and fifty pounds, while their lazy masters carried absolutely nothingbut the clothes they wore. Another party brought fresh whitefish, which they bartered for flour and coffee. Four cups of flour and a pound of coffee were accepted in exchange for seven fish, and both parties seemed pleased with the bargain.

This incident prompted the Bradford boys to fish in the creek and river, but they met with no success, and concluded that it was yet too early. Coffee Jack, however, made a most welcome contribution to the larder one day, by coming in with his hat full of duck's eggs, which he had found in a swamp.

At last, on the fifteenth of May, the leader of the Thirty-six returned with five white men and four Indians. Some of them were so worn with hunger and fatigue as to be hardly recognizable, and all were utterly discouraged. Their hopes were dispelled; they had found no gold.

The big party had advanced more than fifty miles with their heavy loads, and had built two cabins to serve as starting-points for further explorations. The men who had remained there would have to draw on the cache near Pennock's Post very soon, and the leader had given them orders to raft these supplies down the river twenty-five miles to the point where the stream turned westward from the trail, and there establish a storehouse. Meanwhile, those with the captain were to go to the Kah Sha River claims and help the four who had been originallyleft there. The captain himself intended to go to Pyramid Harbor with the Indians, and bring in a fresh supply of provisions on pack horses, as soon as there was grass enough along the trail for the subsistence of the animals.

The men were given a hearty supper at Pennock's, for they sorely needed it. Indeed, they declared it was the first "square meal" they had enjoyed in two weeks. After a good night's rest and breakfast, they resumed their journey in better spirits.

Five days later came a startling piece of information. Mr. Bratnober, a mining man well known on the Dalton trail, with a young man named Onderdonk and two Indian packers, stopped at the cabin on his way north. He said that war had broken out between the United States and Spain in April, and that Admiral Dewey had won a great victory at Manila.

As may be imagined, this news wrought David and Roly up to the highest pitch of excitement.

"Just think," said they,—"war for a month, and we didn't know it!"

For a moment, they almost regretted that they had come to such a far country, and they thought longingly of the stirring times at home. Their father and uncle were also much moved, and their first impulse was to drop everything and hasten back,—the one to protect his family, the other to enter the army or navy. But as they talked the matter over, they saw there was little likelihoodthat the Spaniards could effect a landing on the American coast; and as to Uncle Will's enlistment, though that would have just suited his roving temperament, he decided, upon his brother's urgent request, to await fuller information. All agreed, however, that it would be wise to return at once to the Kah Sha River, a distance of thirty-five miles.

There were several reasons for this move. The first and most imperative was the fact that their provisions at Pennock's would last but one week more. In the second place, they had demonstrated to their entire satisfaction that there was no gold worth mining in that vicinity, and the Thirty-six had found none farther north. Thirdly, there certainlywasgold on their Alder Creek claims, and Lucky's nugget was probably now uncovered. Finally, they would be within thirty miles of Dalton's Post, and likely to hear more news from incoming prospectors.

CHAPTER XXIIA HARD JOURNEYPreparations for departure were begun that evening. The Bradfords overhauled all their belongings, and decided what they would take and what they would have to leave. There was even less food than they supposed,—barely enough for three days,—but tents, blankets, cooking utensils, tools, guns, ammunition, clothing, and various small articles promised to load them heavily, and it was seen that a part of their goods must be abandoned.The sleds, of course, were no longer of any use. Most of the Mackinaw clothing was now too heavy. The ice-creepers and snow-shoes would not be needed, and the former were thrown out at once, but David and Roly could not part with their snow-shoes, which they desired to take home and hang upon the walls of their room. The rubber shoe-packs were nearly worn out, and were discarded. David regretfully abandoned the two steel traps, which were heavy, and not so necessary as some other things. The down quilts which had served them so well were too bulky to be taken along, though not of much weight. So they went through the whole list,retaining this, rejecting that, until they were ready to make up their packs.Next morning, Nichols, a Bostonian who usually cooked for Pennock's party, obligingly prepared breakfast for the Bradfords, who were busily completing their packing. Large, a tall, gaunt San Diego man,—whose initials were A. T., so that, as he was fond of pointing out, he was always "At Large,"—gave them useful hints about binding the packs. He was a veteran of the Civil War, and remembered his travels with knapsack and blanket. Reitz and Adair, also from San Diego, and Pennock and Johnson, assisted in various ways.After several failures, the boys acquired the knack of making up and binding a pack. To accomplish this, they first arranged their goods in the least possible space, and rolled them in tent or blankets,—for David had the latter, and Roly the tent,—thus forming a flattened cylindrical bundle. A lash-rope from a sled was wound once lengthwise and twice widthwise around the pack, the latter windings being about ten inches apart. The bundle being set on end, a strong canvas pack-strap two inches wide and three feet long was inserted under the lower winding at its junction with the lengthwise rope, and the ends were made fast to the upper winding about ten inches apart, leaving the two lengths of the strap somewhat loose, so that the packer could thrust his arms through these loops. Thus the straps passed over hisshoulders and under his armpits. To prevent them from slipping from the shoulders, they were bound together by a cord passing across the chest. By means of the long, loose end of the pack-rope, brought over either shoulder and grasped by the hands, the load could be shifted a little from time to time if it became painful.At seven, all was ready, and the Bradfords took leave of their friends and cast a last look at the little cabin."I guess you'll see some of us before long," said Pennock, as he bade them good-by. "There's no sort of use in our staying here. Remember us to the boys, and leave us some of the gold."Uncle Will motioned Lucky and Coffee Jack to lead the way, and off they started through the open timber to the main trail, which passed but a few hundred yards from the cabin. The hoofs of horses and cattle, travelling to Dawson the previous season, had clearly defined it, and one would have thought it a cow-path in a pasture, had it been in New England instead of the Northwest Territory. For two miles it was smooth and hard, and the walking was excellent, except that sometimes a tree had fallen across the path.Each of the three men carried a load of seventy-five pounds, though Lucky would have thought nothing of one hundred and fifty, being trained to the work from childhood. David had fifty pounds, and Roly and Coffee Jack forty each.Before they had gone half a mile, the boys realized that the journey they had begun would be a severe test of endurance. The pressure of the straps caused pain in their shoulders, and soon their arms and hands tingled with the prickly sensation which arises when the blood cannot circulate freely. They were obliged to avoid sticks and stones with great care, for a sprain or bruise might easily result from stepping upon them so heavily. Even Uncle Will, who had done a good deal of packing, was quite ready to rest when pain compelled the boys to halt. They secured temporary comfort by seating themselves in front of a fallen tree so that the packs would rest upon it, and the prickly sensation in the arms was relieved by loosening the straps a little. Fortunately all had been well rested and strengthened by their stay at Pennock's Post, and were fortified to endure both pain and fatigue. Mr. Bradford was as strong now as his rugged brother. David had grown muscular, and gained in weight. Roly looked much as usual, but his muscles were certainly harder than they had ever been at home.Following the east shore of the river, they came to the mouth of the creek whose headwaters Mr. Bradford had explored. It was crossed by a single narrow log twenty feet long, a rude and dangerous bridge for any one who had not a clear head and steady nerves. The water, six or eight feet below, was still and deep and muddy. Tofall into it with a heavy pack meant almost certain death, if assistance were not at hand.Lucky and Coffee Jack, however, crossed unhesitatingly, and Uncle Will performed the feat without betraying dizziness; but when Mr. Bradford's turn came, he looked somewhat doubtful, declaring that he had done no tight-rope walking since his boyhood days, and he feared that if his head swam, the rest of him would soon be swimming too. On the whole, he thought it wise to remove his pack and carry it in such manner that he could drop it if he fell. He then advanced over the log slowly and cautiously, for its upper surface, hewn level and smooth, was but four inches wide. The boys carried their packs across in the same manner, for though they were good at balancing and had no fear of dizziness, yet to transport a top-heavy, swaying load was very different from making the passage unencumbered.Beyond the creek the land was swampy, and travelling more difficult. They circled one of the small lakes which they had crossed on their northward march, and came at length to a hill two hundred feet high. This was climbed slowly and with several pauses, for they found themselves out of breath the instant they left the level ground, and the perspiration fairly dripped from their faces. At the top, David threw himself down before a log with his pack resting upon it, but Roly thought he could improve on this arrangement by sitting on the trunk itself and lettingthe pack come against the great upturned roots. Unfortunately, in the act of seating himself, he leaned too far backward, and instantly his load overbalanced him. Over he went on his back on the other side of the tree, pack down and heels up, to the amusement of his friends and his own discomfiture, for, try as he would, he could not move."Roly seems to have come to anchor," observed Uncle Will, with a most provoking twinkle in his eye. He and his brother had seated themselves at a little distance."Yes," said Mr. Bradford, smiling as he contemplated Roly's fruitless efforts to turn over; "and perhaps it's just as well. We shall know where to find him.""I should think you would," said poor Roly, laughing in spite of himself. "I can't get up till somebody helps me, and I did want to look at the valley.""Oh, no!" put in David, with exasperating composure; "the sky is far prettier. Just see those beautiful white summer clouds sailing along.""Let them sail if they want to," said the prostrate youth, impatiently. "I don't care. Have you all conspired against me? Give me your hand, Dave, you're nearest.""Oh, I don't know," answered David, without moving. "Do you remember a certain April Fool's trick, young man?""Yes," groaned Roly."Don't you think you ought to be punished?""Not any more than I am. My pack will punish me enough for twenty tricks before the day is over.""True enough, youngster," said David, with swift repentance, as he thought of his own sore shoulders and the growing pain in his back. "Here's my hand. You had my forgiveness long ago.""That's right!" said Mr. Bradford, who had been on the point of going to Roly's assistance when this dialogue began. "Don't lay up resentment, my lad."So Roly came up smiling, and they all took a good look at the valley of Pennock's Post, the whole length and breadth of which lay spread before them. There in the blue distance northward were the Father and Son, with the narrow pass between. Nearer was the granite cliff to the west of the cabin, and even the sandy bluff that fronted the river was distinguishable. But the little house was hidden in the forest.Soon after the march was resumed, a small and beautiful lake was skirted, lying east of the trail. Beyond it towered a mountain, upon whose green slope gleamed a white waterfall, while near the hither shore emerged an islet crowned with trees. Uncle Will looked particularly at the ice, which had melted away from the margin of this lake, but still appeared firm in the centre."There's about an even chance," said he, "that we can cross Dasar-dee-ash, instead of going clear around it. Wemust make the short cut if possible, for our food is almost gone. I think the ice will bear us, if we can only get upon it."With every step, the packs became more painful. Shoulders and hips grew sore, backs ached, and feet grew lame. It was now necessary to rest every quarter of a mile. They passed another lake, along whose shores the trail was rough and swampy. Wooded ridges rose on either side of them. In some places they found small berries of the previous season, which, being pleasant to the taste and harmless, were eagerly eaten.The Indians at length left the trail and turned through a cleft in the hills in the direction of Lake Dasar-dee-ash, which lay three miles to the west. Only here and there could the white men distinguish faint signs of an old path which Lucky and Coffee Jack followed with wonderful acuteness. On reaching the lake, the Bradfords estimated that they had carried their loads at least fourteen miles, and it was with a great sense of relief that they threw their burdens to the ground and proceeded to pitch the tents with what little energy remained.At this spot an old Indian and his family were fishing. They were evidently well known to Lucky and his brother, whom they entertained that evening with a supper of salmon and whitefish,—a fortunate circumstance, since the provisions of the Bradfords were running so low that they barely had enough for themselves.The second day's march was even more severe than the first. It was needful to hasten, for the old Indian could spare no fish when the Bradfords offered to buy, and even Lucky could procure but half a dozen small ones for himself and Coffee Jack on the journey. Rations were therefore reduced, for it was plain that it would be well along in the third day before they could reach Uncle Will's cache, even should it prove possible to cross upon the ice; while if the crossing should seem too dangerous, it would require a fourth day to go around by the rough, wooded south shore.At the old Indian's camping ground, the outlook was anything but favorable. It was now the twenty-second of May, and so warm that the green buds were swelling in every tree. As far as the eye could see, the ice had retreated from the beach, leaving a strip of open water from fifty to a hundred feet wide. There was nothing to do but follow an old trail along the eastern shore in the hope that somewhere conditions would be more encouraging.The heavy packs were strapped on once more, and off they tramped across a wide marsh, now jumping as well as they could from hummock to hummock, now wading through water knee-deep. Beyond the marsh they had a bad trail, or no trail at all, for the remainder of the day, sometimes forcing their way through thickets, sometimes clambering through a region of fallen timber, where thegreat trunks were piled in such intricate confusion that a passage seemed utterly hopeless, and again crossing a newly burned woodland where dry dust and ashes lay several inches deep, and rose from beneath their feet in stifling clouds. A river a hundred feet in width was crossed by a convenient jam of logs and trees. Late in the afternoon they took to the beach, where the rough cobblestones offered the lesser evil, and after a mile of this painful walking came to a little cove where at last was a sight so welcome that the boys gave a glad shout. A narrow spur of ice was seen, bridging the strip of blue water.

A HARD JOURNEY

Preparations for departure were begun that evening. The Bradfords overhauled all their belongings, and decided what they would take and what they would have to leave. There was even less food than they supposed,—barely enough for three days,—but tents, blankets, cooking utensils, tools, guns, ammunition, clothing, and various small articles promised to load them heavily, and it was seen that a part of their goods must be abandoned.

The sleds, of course, were no longer of any use. Most of the Mackinaw clothing was now too heavy. The ice-creepers and snow-shoes would not be needed, and the former were thrown out at once, but David and Roly could not part with their snow-shoes, which they desired to take home and hang upon the walls of their room. The rubber shoe-packs were nearly worn out, and were discarded. David regretfully abandoned the two steel traps, which were heavy, and not so necessary as some other things. The down quilts which had served them so well were too bulky to be taken along, though not of much weight. So they went through the whole list,retaining this, rejecting that, until they were ready to make up their packs.

Next morning, Nichols, a Bostonian who usually cooked for Pennock's party, obligingly prepared breakfast for the Bradfords, who were busily completing their packing. Large, a tall, gaunt San Diego man,—whose initials were A. T., so that, as he was fond of pointing out, he was always "At Large,"—gave them useful hints about binding the packs. He was a veteran of the Civil War, and remembered his travels with knapsack and blanket. Reitz and Adair, also from San Diego, and Pennock and Johnson, assisted in various ways.

After several failures, the boys acquired the knack of making up and binding a pack. To accomplish this, they first arranged their goods in the least possible space, and rolled them in tent or blankets,—for David had the latter, and Roly the tent,—thus forming a flattened cylindrical bundle. A lash-rope from a sled was wound once lengthwise and twice widthwise around the pack, the latter windings being about ten inches apart. The bundle being set on end, a strong canvas pack-strap two inches wide and three feet long was inserted under the lower winding at its junction with the lengthwise rope, and the ends were made fast to the upper winding about ten inches apart, leaving the two lengths of the strap somewhat loose, so that the packer could thrust his arms through these loops. Thus the straps passed over hisshoulders and under his armpits. To prevent them from slipping from the shoulders, they were bound together by a cord passing across the chest. By means of the long, loose end of the pack-rope, brought over either shoulder and grasped by the hands, the load could be shifted a little from time to time if it became painful.

At seven, all was ready, and the Bradfords took leave of their friends and cast a last look at the little cabin.

"I guess you'll see some of us before long," said Pennock, as he bade them good-by. "There's no sort of use in our staying here. Remember us to the boys, and leave us some of the gold."

Uncle Will motioned Lucky and Coffee Jack to lead the way, and off they started through the open timber to the main trail, which passed but a few hundred yards from the cabin. The hoofs of horses and cattle, travelling to Dawson the previous season, had clearly defined it, and one would have thought it a cow-path in a pasture, had it been in New England instead of the Northwest Territory. For two miles it was smooth and hard, and the walking was excellent, except that sometimes a tree had fallen across the path.

Each of the three men carried a load of seventy-five pounds, though Lucky would have thought nothing of one hundred and fifty, being trained to the work from childhood. David had fifty pounds, and Roly and Coffee Jack forty each.

Before they had gone half a mile, the boys realized that the journey they had begun would be a severe test of endurance. The pressure of the straps caused pain in their shoulders, and soon their arms and hands tingled with the prickly sensation which arises when the blood cannot circulate freely. They were obliged to avoid sticks and stones with great care, for a sprain or bruise might easily result from stepping upon them so heavily. Even Uncle Will, who had done a good deal of packing, was quite ready to rest when pain compelled the boys to halt. They secured temporary comfort by seating themselves in front of a fallen tree so that the packs would rest upon it, and the prickly sensation in the arms was relieved by loosening the straps a little. Fortunately all had been well rested and strengthened by their stay at Pennock's Post, and were fortified to endure both pain and fatigue. Mr. Bradford was as strong now as his rugged brother. David had grown muscular, and gained in weight. Roly looked much as usual, but his muscles were certainly harder than they had ever been at home.

Following the east shore of the river, they came to the mouth of the creek whose headwaters Mr. Bradford had explored. It was crossed by a single narrow log twenty feet long, a rude and dangerous bridge for any one who had not a clear head and steady nerves. The water, six or eight feet below, was still and deep and muddy. Tofall into it with a heavy pack meant almost certain death, if assistance were not at hand.

Lucky and Coffee Jack, however, crossed unhesitatingly, and Uncle Will performed the feat without betraying dizziness; but when Mr. Bradford's turn came, he looked somewhat doubtful, declaring that he had done no tight-rope walking since his boyhood days, and he feared that if his head swam, the rest of him would soon be swimming too. On the whole, he thought it wise to remove his pack and carry it in such manner that he could drop it if he fell. He then advanced over the log slowly and cautiously, for its upper surface, hewn level and smooth, was but four inches wide. The boys carried their packs across in the same manner, for though they were good at balancing and had no fear of dizziness, yet to transport a top-heavy, swaying load was very different from making the passage unencumbered.

Beyond the creek the land was swampy, and travelling more difficult. They circled one of the small lakes which they had crossed on their northward march, and came at length to a hill two hundred feet high. This was climbed slowly and with several pauses, for they found themselves out of breath the instant they left the level ground, and the perspiration fairly dripped from their faces. At the top, David threw himself down before a log with his pack resting upon it, but Roly thought he could improve on this arrangement by sitting on the trunk itself and lettingthe pack come against the great upturned roots. Unfortunately, in the act of seating himself, he leaned too far backward, and instantly his load overbalanced him. Over he went on his back on the other side of the tree, pack down and heels up, to the amusement of his friends and his own discomfiture, for, try as he would, he could not move.

"Roly seems to have come to anchor," observed Uncle Will, with a most provoking twinkle in his eye. He and his brother had seated themselves at a little distance.

"Yes," said Mr. Bradford, smiling as he contemplated Roly's fruitless efforts to turn over; "and perhaps it's just as well. We shall know where to find him."

"I should think you would," said poor Roly, laughing in spite of himself. "I can't get up till somebody helps me, and I did want to look at the valley."

"Oh, no!" put in David, with exasperating composure; "the sky is far prettier. Just see those beautiful white summer clouds sailing along."

"Let them sail if they want to," said the prostrate youth, impatiently. "I don't care. Have you all conspired against me? Give me your hand, Dave, you're nearest."

"Oh, I don't know," answered David, without moving. "Do you remember a certain April Fool's trick, young man?"

"Yes," groaned Roly.

"Don't you think you ought to be punished?"

"Not any more than I am. My pack will punish me enough for twenty tricks before the day is over."

"True enough, youngster," said David, with swift repentance, as he thought of his own sore shoulders and the growing pain in his back. "Here's my hand. You had my forgiveness long ago."

"That's right!" said Mr. Bradford, who had been on the point of going to Roly's assistance when this dialogue began. "Don't lay up resentment, my lad."

So Roly came up smiling, and they all took a good look at the valley of Pennock's Post, the whole length and breadth of which lay spread before them. There in the blue distance northward were the Father and Son, with the narrow pass between. Nearer was the granite cliff to the west of the cabin, and even the sandy bluff that fronted the river was distinguishable. But the little house was hidden in the forest.

Soon after the march was resumed, a small and beautiful lake was skirted, lying east of the trail. Beyond it towered a mountain, upon whose green slope gleamed a white waterfall, while near the hither shore emerged an islet crowned with trees. Uncle Will looked particularly at the ice, which had melted away from the margin of this lake, but still appeared firm in the centre.

"There's about an even chance," said he, "that we can cross Dasar-dee-ash, instead of going clear around it. Wemust make the short cut if possible, for our food is almost gone. I think the ice will bear us, if we can only get upon it."

With every step, the packs became more painful. Shoulders and hips grew sore, backs ached, and feet grew lame. It was now necessary to rest every quarter of a mile. They passed another lake, along whose shores the trail was rough and swampy. Wooded ridges rose on either side of them. In some places they found small berries of the previous season, which, being pleasant to the taste and harmless, were eagerly eaten.

The Indians at length left the trail and turned through a cleft in the hills in the direction of Lake Dasar-dee-ash, which lay three miles to the west. Only here and there could the white men distinguish faint signs of an old path which Lucky and Coffee Jack followed with wonderful acuteness. On reaching the lake, the Bradfords estimated that they had carried their loads at least fourteen miles, and it was with a great sense of relief that they threw their burdens to the ground and proceeded to pitch the tents with what little energy remained.

At this spot an old Indian and his family were fishing. They were evidently well known to Lucky and his brother, whom they entertained that evening with a supper of salmon and whitefish,—a fortunate circumstance, since the provisions of the Bradfords were running so low that they barely had enough for themselves.

The second day's march was even more severe than the first. It was needful to hasten, for the old Indian could spare no fish when the Bradfords offered to buy, and even Lucky could procure but half a dozen small ones for himself and Coffee Jack on the journey. Rations were therefore reduced, for it was plain that it would be well along in the third day before they could reach Uncle Will's cache, even should it prove possible to cross upon the ice; while if the crossing should seem too dangerous, it would require a fourth day to go around by the rough, wooded south shore.

At the old Indian's camping ground, the outlook was anything but favorable. It was now the twenty-second of May, and so warm that the green buds were swelling in every tree. As far as the eye could see, the ice had retreated from the beach, leaving a strip of open water from fifty to a hundred feet wide. There was nothing to do but follow an old trail along the eastern shore in the hope that somewhere conditions would be more encouraging.

The heavy packs were strapped on once more, and off they tramped across a wide marsh, now jumping as well as they could from hummock to hummock, now wading through water knee-deep. Beyond the marsh they had a bad trail, or no trail at all, for the remainder of the day, sometimes forcing their way through thickets, sometimes clambering through a region of fallen timber, where thegreat trunks were piled in such intricate confusion that a passage seemed utterly hopeless, and again crossing a newly burned woodland where dry dust and ashes lay several inches deep, and rose from beneath their feet in stifling clouds. A river a hundred feet in width was crossed by a convenient jam of logs and trees. Late in the afternoon they took to the beach, where the rough cobblestones offered the lesser evil, and after a mile of this painful walking came to a little cove where at last was a sight so welcome that the boys gave a glad shout. A narrow spur of ice was seen, bridging the strip of blue water.

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