CHAPTER XXXIII

CHAPTER XXXIIIALONE IN THE WILDERNESSDavid had not realized what it meant to be alone in the wilderness. When he had agreed, back in the camp on Alder Creek, to take charge of a cabin for a fortnight, he had looked upon it as rather a novel and pleasant undertaking, in spite of his father's warning. Now, as he watched his friends ride away, and whistled back the dog, who showed a desire to follow them, it must be confessed that he felt quite differently about it. But he was a stout-hearted lad, and sensibly decided that the best way to forget his loneliness was to keep busy.Fortunately work lay ready to his hand. His predecessors had carried away their sleeping-tent, but they had shown him in the cabin some large pieces of canvas which, with a little ingenuity, could be transformed into quite a comfortable shelter. They had built a raised bedstead of poles inside their tent, and this structure remained in place. Above it was a sort of ridgepole, which had supported the tent. With some difficulty David flung an end of the largest piece of canvas over this pole, and found, on drawing it intoposition, that it would quite reach the ground on both sides and completely cover the bedstead. Having made the corners fast to small spruces, he set the other pieces of canvas in place across the rear of the tent; and though they could not be made to fill the whole space, they contributed materially to the shelter. Besides, that end was protected by the ridge of sand with its fringe of trees. The front of the tent was entirely open and faced northwest upon the beautiful stretch of the river where it flowed away from the bluff. Beyond, and perhaps ten miles distant, was a long range of mountains bounding the valley on the north, which Champlain had said was the Yukon Divide. The waters on its farther slope flowed into a tributary of the Yukon, while those on the nearer side reached the Pacific much more directly.When the tent had been made as snug as possible, David brought heavy blankets from the cabin and spread them upon the poles of the bedstead. So interested did he become in arranging his quarters that he quite forgot that he must get his own supper; and when hunger at length compelled him to think of the matter, his watch informed him that it was after six o'clock. By good luck, he found, on examining the larder, that there were odds and ends of one kind and another sufficient for a meal.After supper he cut dry wood for the little stove andpiled it in the cook-tent. Hardly was this done when a thunder-storm, which had been brewing in the north, drove him into the new tent. The sky grew dark, the lightning flashed over the northern mountains, the wind arose and howled in the forest, and the rain beat down on the frail canvas roof. David lay on his rude couch, with Shep curled up on the ground at his feet, and watched the storm, and thought, with a longing he had never known before, of his far-away home in New England,—of his father and brother and uncle in their camp on Alder Creek,—and more than once, it is certain, of the fair-haired little girl at Seattle. But at last, in spite of his loneliness, having carefully arranged his head-net over his face and settled down among the blankets, he dropped off into oblivion, and only awakened when the morning sun was smiling warmly down on the valley.It was indeed a fine morning. A few gray clouds curled about Mount Bratnober and Mount Champlain and an unnamed peak to the west. Red squirrels were scampering and chattering in the trees, a fat ground-squirrel was sitting up demurely on the point of the bluff like a small brown statue, birds were singing in all directions, and the feeling of isolation which had oppressed the solitary youth in the evening vanished like magic under the bright influence of day.Having fetched a pail of water from the river, Davidperformed his toilet, and then set about getting breakfast. He had helped his uncle more or less and could fry bacon to a turn; but he was rather tired of bacon, and cast about for some more appetizing dish. Picking up a can of baking-powder, he read the recipes printed thereon, but without finding just what he wanted. Then he bethought himself of a rule for johnny-cakes which Hovey had written out for him. Johnny-cakes would be an excellent breakfast dish, he said to himself. With the aid of a few dry twigs a fire was quickly kindled in the little stove, and a kettle of water set on to heat for coffee and for dish-washing, while the young cook measured out the flour, corn-meal, crystallized egg, baking-powder, and salt which were to compose the cakes. When he had stirred sufficient water into this mixture to moisten it thoroughly, he greased the frying-pan with a bacon rind, and as soon as it was hot he ladled out the batter.How deliciously it sizzled in the pan! He could hardly wait for the cooking to be done; but at length there were nine nicely browned johnny-cakes begging to be eaten. A little sugar and water heated on the stove served for syrup, and canned butter was also at hand. David found not the slightest difficulty in disposing of the nine cakes, and thought them by far the best he had ever eaten. They were much too good for Shep, who was offered some canned corned beef instead; but toDavid's surprise, the dog refused to eat the meat and declined all invitations to join his master at breakfast. Indeed, for nearly a week Shep would eat nothing; but as he seemed in good condition, David came to the conclusion that he had found the carcass of the steer which the cattlemen had killed, and was living by preference on that.But if the dog would not partake, at least the birds would. They fluttered fearlessly about the tent—magpies, butcher-birds, and others—and carried off every stray scrap; while two tiny song-sparrows, most fearless and friendly of all, actually hopped into the tent and over his feet and upon the table while he was at meals, and picked up the crumbs as fast as they fell.With a little practice David became a competent cook. His johnny-cakes had turned out so well that he made them every morning. He also had biscuits, omelets, baked beans, rice, dried fruits and vegetables, bacon, squirrels, and grayling to choose from, and lived very comfortably. The biscuits were as successful as the johnny-cakes, with one notable exception,—that was when he conceived the idea of adding a pinch of nutmeg spice. All might have gone well had not the cover come off unexpectedly and allowed half the contents of the can to go into the batter. When he had removed all the spice he could with a spoon, there still remained so much that the biscuits turned out a dark pink color;and as for eating them, it required a pretty strong stomach.The grayling could sometimes be caught quite plentifully from the rafts or from the sandy curve on the other side of the bluff. As for the squirrels, he could not find it in his heart to kill those which chattered so sociably around his dwelling; so when he needed fresh meat, he strolled down the trail with Shep and shot squirrels with which he was in no wise acquainted.One evening he shot an animal which was swimming in the river. It proved to be a musk-rat. He remembered reading that some Indian tribes relish the flesh of this rodent, and, having cooked it experimentally, he found the meat both wholesome and palatable.He early set himself to the task of bringing order out of chaos in the cabin, where boxes and cans of provisions were indiscriminately mixed with clothing bags and snow-shoes. Cutting down two straight young trees, he contrived a shelf across the rear of the building upon which a portion of the goods could be disposed, thus leaving much more room upon the floor. After the first two or three nights he slept in the cabin, because the mosquitoes were less troublesome in the comparative darkness of the building, and also because he felt more secure there against the larger inhabitants of the forest. Presently he found himself almost reconciled to this mode of life. He was his own master. He could goor come with absolute freedom. In the intervals of his work he could hunt or fish, read or dream, or study nature in the animal and plant life about him. There was a sort of charm in it, after all. But as often as evening came around, he heartily wished he might have some one besides the dog to talk to.Day after day he saw no human face and heard no voice but his own. If a regiment had passed on the main trail he might never have known it, had they gone quietly. How many pack trains actually went by in that lonely week he never knew. Once he heard a rifle-shot and the bark of a dog, and running down his own path to the trail, he found fresh hoof-prints, but the travellers were out of sight. He happened to meet no one on any of his hunting excursions, nor did any Indian visit him. For seven long days he was alone.CHAPTER XXXIVRAIDED BY A WOLFThe third evening after the departure of the captain's party David was sitting in the cook-tent watching the last embers of the sunset and the varying lights and shadows on the river. Shep stood near the edge of the bluff.Suddenly the dog's ears pointed forward attentively and his whole body quivered. It was clear that something unusual had come in sight. No sooner had David reached the brow of the bluff than he saw the cause of Shep's excitement. A black animal was lapping the water where the river curved to the northwest, about three hundred feet distant.The semi-darkness and the heavy mosquito net over his face prevented David from seeing clearly, but he instantly formed the conclusion that it was a dog belonging to some pack train on the neighboring trail, and whistled to see what it would do.On hearing the whistle the animal raised its head, gazed a moment at the two figures on the bluff, resumed its drinking, and then, having satisfied its thirst, turned and started up the slope. As it did so, David was consciousthat it had a slinking gait unlike that of a dog, and for the first time he thought how queer it was that Shep had not offered to run down and make friends with the stranger."It's a small black bear," flashed into his mind. Instantly he ran with all speed to the cabin for the shot-gun, which he kept loaded with buckshot. The captain's party had carried off the only rifle, and David was now sorry he had not brought his own. He caught up the shot-gun, however, and slipping a few extra cartridges into his pocket, ran back to the bluff where Shep stood guard.The strange animal had disappeared.For a moment David was disconcerted. He had not thought the bear could get away so quickly, nor could he be sure whether it had gone into the fringe of trees and bushes along the river-bank or continued up the slope. He hesitated, too, before setting out to attack such an animal with only a shot-gun for a weapon and a dog of doubtful courage as an ally. The next instant, however, he had decided to track and kill the beast if possible, and calling Shep to follow, he hurried down to the river's sandy brink to examine the tracks by the waning light. He was quite puzzled at finding that they were almost identical in appearance with those made by Shep, but at length the truth dawned upon him. He had to deal, not with a young bear, but with a full-grown wolf!He now endeavored to make Shep take the scent, but Shep was not trained to such work and sniffed around indiscriminately without attempting to follow the animal's trail. There was nothing for it but to track the wolf himself. He accordingly traced every track as far as it would lead him. One proceeded from the fringe of bushes to the point where the animal drank, while another led straight up the face of the bluff. The latter he followed as far as the sand continued; but the top of the elevation was grassy, and in the growing darkness the trail was quickly lost. Keeping his eyes and ears alert for the slightest sound, David penetrated some distance into the open woods, but without discovering further signs of the animal. Satisfied that nothing more could be done, he returned to camp, and took unusual pains to fasten the frail cabin door securely when he turned in for the night.Nor was he destined to sleep without an alarm. A noise of rattling tin awoke him with a start. The interior of the cabin was quite dark, since, as we have said, there were no windows; but the nights were not yet without some light, and feeble rays outlined every chink as David sat up, threw off his mosquito net, and looked around. Again came the rattle of tin. It evidently proceeded from a pile of empty cans just outside the cabin. He brought himself to a kneeling posture and pressed his face close to one of the widestchinks. Presently he distinguished an animal nosing among the cans and making the noise which had awakened him. It was Shep. David spoke to the dog, and having seen him walk away with a somewhat shame-faced air, he settled himself once more among the blankets and was soon asleep again.Seven days had passed when the monotony of his existence was broken by the arrival of strangers. It was in the afternoon that he heard voices and the sound of horses from the direction of the trail, and a minute later saw two young fellows ride up, followed by a dozen pack animals."Hello!" exclaimed the foremost rider as he saw David, "this place has changed hands, I guess, since we was here last. How d'you do? Hovey and Herrick gone away?""Yes," answered David. "They left for the Kah Sha River a week ago. You've been here before?""Oh, yes! We're packing back and forth between Pyramid Harbor and Five Finger Rapids for the owner of these horses. We always like to put up here for the night, for it's pretty lonesome on this trail.""That's so," said David, feelingly. He, too, was not a little pleased at the thought of company, and the more so in the present instance, because the new-comers were near his own age. The elder was slender, with dark hair and a rather sparse growth of beard, and mighthave been twenty-two or three, while the other was a ruddy, plump lad of about seventeen."My name's Close," said the dark-haired one, as he dismounted and proceeded to unsaddle his horse. "We're from Wisconsin."In return for this information David gave his own name and residence.The Wisconsin boys took the packs from their horses and turned them loose to graze."Now for supper," said Close."You'll find a stove and dishes and a table, such as it is, in the cook-tent yonder," said David, hospitably. "I guess you know your way around. Just make yourselves at home, and I'll have the fire going in a jiffy."It took the strangers but a short time to cook their evening meal, and as soon as they had finished with the stove David prepared his own supper, and the three sat down together."Can you spare us enough butter for our bread?" asked Close. "We're all out.""Yes," said David, passing it over, "help yourself." He knew there were but two more cans in the cache under his charge, but he felt certain the captain would wish him to extend such hospitalities as lay in his power; and he would much rather have gone without butter himself for a time than deny it to his guests.They, however, had no intention of trenching on David's slender stock without returning an equivalent."You don't seem to have any condensed milk," observed the younger of the two."No," said David. "There isn't a drop. I've looked the whole cache over for it.""Well, here! You just take what you want out of our can. We've got milk if we haven't got butter. Try some of that dried fruit, too."Having thanked his friends, David inquired if the trail was in good shape. He was thinking that before long he would be tramping back over it."Yes," answered Close, "most of it's good; but there's some bad bogs where the horses get mired. Those cattle herds have cut it all to pieces where the ground is soft. We haven't had much trouble, though.""No," put in his companion, "when we get started we can go along well enough. The worst of this packing business is ketching the horses in the morning. The critters are as sly as foxes. They'll stand so still in the thickets when they hear you coming that you can go within ten feet of 'em and never know they're there.""They keep pretty well together, though," said the other, "and the tracks are generally plain. Besides, there's a bell on one of them.""If they were my horses," declared David, "I would bell them all.""And it wouldn't be a bad idea," said Close, with a laugh.By David's invitation the Wisconsin boys slept that night on the bedstead in the tent. They breakfasted early and then set out to round up their horses, which they accomplished in a couple of hours after a long tramp through the woods. Having loaded the animals, they bade David good-by and rode away toward the trail, presently shouting back, "Better call the dog; he's following the horses."David whistled Shep back and ordered him to lie down. It was no wonder he thought every one his master, he had changed owners so often. He now lay down quietly enough on the ground before the cook-tent and appeared to have forgotten all about the pack train.An hour later David finished his wood-chopping and suddenly noticed that Shep was gone. At first he thought little of the matter, supposing him to be somewhere in the neighborhood, but when another hour passed without him, he feared Shep had followed the horses, after all. He whistled again and again, but no dog came; and now he was perplexed to know what to do. By this time the pack train was six or eight miles away. The dog would overtake it easily, buthecould not hope to do so before it halted for the night; and he did not like to leave so long the property of which he was incharge. The Wisconsin boys might send the dog back, or, failing in that, they would doubtless deliver him up to the captain, whom they would probably see before many days. So, however much he regretted the loss of his only companion, he concluded to let the matter drop.A little later, from the sand-ridge back of the tents, he perceived a column of white smoke above the trees near the river, a quarter of a mile to the southeast. It indicated the presence of either white men or Indians on the trail, and Shep might be with them. David lost no time in locking the cabin door and setting out rapidly in the direction of the smoke.On his hunting excursions he had noticed an Indian canoe bottom-up near that spot, and naturally supposed that the dusky owners had now arrived. He found, however, that two white men had kindled a fire against a fallen tree for the purpose of cooking their midday meal. Their two horses were grazing near by. The strangers were men of middle age, with thick, grizzled beards and sunbrowned faces. They seemed surprised to see David, but greeted him pleasantly."Camping near here?" they asked."Yes," answered David, seating himself sociably; "at Champlain's Landing.""Oh, yes!" exclaimed one of the men, "I saw the sign-board on the tree where your path turns off, but I didn't know any one was there.""Have you come from Dawson?" asked David."Yes; we left there nine days ago.""Any new strikes?""No, none recently; but the people keep swarming in over the other trails.""What are they paying in wages?""Seven to ten dollars a day.""I've heard it was very unhealthy there.""Yes, there's a good deal of scurvy and pneumonia.""Any starvation last winter?""No, but it was a tight squeeze for some of them.""Does a man stand much chance of a fortune who goes there now?""Not if he expects to dig gold. The paying ground is all taken up and a good deal more. There's a better chance now in trading. In fact, that's what my partner and I are going into. We've discovered that some things are mighty scarce in Dawson, and people will pay almost anything for them, so we're going out to the coast to bring in a stock of goods. We shall try to be back before cold weather."David had kept his eyes open for Shep, but seeing nothing of him, he asked if they had met two young fellows that morning and had noticed a black and white dog. The men remembered the pack train well enough, but neither had any recollection of seeing the dog. So David went back to the Landing more mystified than ever.With Shep away, he felt instinctively that the wolf would pay him another visit; nor was he mistaken. That night he slept deeply and heard no sound, but when he arose and went out to the cook-tent, he rubbed his eyes in astonishment. Wolf-tracks were everywhere, dishes were scattered about, a five-pound piece of bacon had disappeared, and the butter can, which had stood in a pail of water on the top of the rude sideboard five feet above the ground now lay on the grass, where the wolf had ineffectually tried to get at the contents. Strange to say, the pail from which the can had been abstracted stood unmoved in its accustomed place.David picked up the scattered utensils and smiled rather grimly to think how he had slept for two nights in the open, unprotected tent, exposed to this midnight prowler.CHAPTER XXXVA LONG MARCH, WITH A SURPRISE AT THE END OF ITAs the time approached for David to be relieved from duty, he began to watch for the expected traveller and to conjecture as to who would be sent. Two weeks had passed since he had left the camp on Alder Creek. It was now near the end of July.About noon of the day following the departure of Shep and the midnight visit of the wolf, as he was cooking his dinner, he saw Davidson, a young Bostonian, swinging rapidly up the path. The two exchanged cordial greetings, and David immediately prepared to give his friend a hearty meal."How did you leave the people in the Shorty Creek district?" asked the young cook when the new-comer had removed his light pack and seated himself in one of Hovey's rustic chairs."Everybody was well when I left," answered Davidson, "except old Tom Moore, the recorder. He's down with scurvy, but I guess our doctor will fix him up. They've sent him a lot of dried fruit and vegetables, and that diet ought to help him. I don't believe he had eaten much but bacon for a month, and he hardlyever stirred out of his tent. It's no wonder the scurvy caught him.""I should think so," said David. And then he asked abruptly, "How long did it take you to get here, Davidson?""Two days and a half from Reitz's tent on Klukshu Lake," was the reply."That's quick time. You must be a good walker. I just wish my legs were as long as yours. How far do you think it is?""About sixty-five miles by the trail. You'd better allow three days if you carry anything.""I shall have about forty pounds," said David. "The men at Moran's gave me a list of things they wanted out of their clothing bags, and I sent all I could by the boat; but in the hurry I couldn't find everything. Is Reitz catching any salmon yet?""Oh, yes; plenty of them. Humphrey is with him now, and they're having all they can do."Next morning David gave his friend such directions regarding the cache as had been given to himself, and surrendered the key of the padlock on the cabin door. Then he cooked three days' rations of bacon, biscuits, and rice, to which he added some pieces of jerked beef which Davidson had brought and kindly offered him. Finally he made up his pack, and an hour before noon was ready to start on the long, solitary tramp. If hehad stopped to think much about it he might well have shrunk from so lonely a journey through the wilderness, for he was armed only with hunting-knife and hatchet, but the thought of getting back to his friends was uppermost and made him light-hearted; and, besides, if Davidson had made the journey, he was sure he could."Hold on!" exclaimed Davidson, suddenly, as he saw the lad taking up his pack. "I'm going with you a few miles. I'll carry the pack.""Oh, no indeed!" said David, whose pride was touched. It seemed almost effeminate to surrender his burden to one who had hardly yet rested after a long journey. "I'm perfectly fresh, and you must be tired. It's mighty kind of you, but I can't let you.""You don't feel the need of a lift now," said Davidson, kindly, "but you may at the other end of the day's march. And it's only at this end that I can help you.""But surely I can carry that load all day. It isn't heavy,—and it really belongs to me to take it.""Then I won't go with you, Dave."David instantly perceived that if he refused the generous offer of his friend he would hurt his feelings, and that he ought to yield. "Well, then," said he, "rather than lose your company, I accept your conditions, and please don't think me ungrateful."So Davidson fastened the pack upon his own shoulders, and having locked the cabin, the two set off downthe path to the trail, which they followed till they had covered about five miles and were near the entrance to the pass between Mount Bratnober and Mount Champlain. They now sat down beside a brook, and David proceeded to eat his dinner, which he insisted his companion should share. This Davidson was reluctant to do, since he knew the lad would have to calculate closely to make his food last. He was finally prevailed upon to accept a piece of bacon and half a biscuit, but would take no more."If I were you," said Davidson, "I should divide the journey into three parts as nearly equal as possible. From the Landing to Pennock's Post is about twenty-five miles. You'd better try to reach there to-night. Then it's twenty miles to the river that flows into Dasar-dee-ash from the east. You'll have to wade it, unless there's somebody there with a horse. I was lucky enough to find a pack train at the ford. The water won't come much above your waist.""H-m!" said David, laconically. "Ice-water, I suppose.""Very likely. Then on the third day you can make the remaining twenty miles to Reitz's camp, and go over to Moran's any time you like.""Thank you, Davidson," said his young friend. "That's just the way I'll plan to do it."They parted with mutual good-will, and David, withthe pack now on his own back, soon found himself traversing the recently burned district within the pass. The mighty cliff of Mount Champlain towered on his left, while across the river rose the hardly less stupendous crags of Mount Bratnober. On every side the country was bright with the purple fireweed, which had sprung up from the ashes as if by magic.There were scattered patches of forest which the great conflagration had spared, and in the midst of one of these David was suddenly aware of a crackling sound ahead. The next instant he caught a whiff of smoke and saw it rising in a dense cloud through the trees. A few steps more and he found himself in a shower of sparks which a sudden gust blew toward him. Forced to beat a precipitate retreat, he made a détour to the windward of the burning area, from which side he was able to make a closer examination.Plainly some careless traveller had allowed his camp-fire to get beyond his control, or else had neglected to extinguish it when he moved on. The flames had crept through the moss and communicated with several dry spruces, which were now blazing fiercely. It was utterly beyond David's power to check the spread of the flames, but he reflected that the whole country around had been burned over, and the fire could not extend past the limits of the oasis-like grove in which it had originated, so he continued on his journey.In an open stretch of meadow he came upon a white horse and a mule grazing contentedly. The animals raised their heads in mute inquiry, and then resumed their feeding. David looked about for the owners, but seeing no one, came to the conclusion that these were waifs from some pack train, and might now be appropriated by any one who could catch them. It was a great temptation to try. Riding was certainly an improvement on walking; and if he could not do that without a bridle, he could at least lead the horse with a bit of rope and make him carry his pack. On second thought, however, he abandoned the idea. Perhaps the animals were not lost. The owners might be somewhere in the neighborhood. If this were the case, and he were seen leading the horse away, he might be accused of horse-stealing,—a very serious charge on the trail. It was better to let them alone, and he plodded on.A little later he caught sight of a black animal among the trees ahead, and it must be confessed that a lonely, creepy sensation ran up his back at that moment. He loosened the hatchet in its leather case as he walked, but soon saw that the beast was not a bear, but a large black dog which, having even more respect for him than he had felt for it, turned out of the trail and gave him a wide berth. A few minutes afterward he met two men with a small pack train, and concluded that the dog wastheirs. The men nodded pleasantly as they passed; they were the only persons he saw on the trail that day.By mid-afternoon he found himself getting tired. A great many trees had fallen across the path, and the labor of stepping over them contributed materially to his fatigue. There were bogs, too, so cut up by the passage of horses and cattle that it was difficult for a pedestrian to cross without becoming stuck fast. Usually, however, a sapling had been cut down and laid over the ooze, and David crossed all but one of these rude bridges successfully.The one exception nearly cost him dear. He made a misstep, and his right foot slipped into the mud beside the log. The mud and water offered no support, and the sudden lurch having thrown the weight of his pack to that side, his foot sank deeper and deeper without reaching solid ground. By good fortune his other foot was still on the log, and, better still, there were stout bushes on the other side. These he grasped desperately as he sank, and by a violent effort restored his balance and drew himself back upon the log.In the early evening he waded Frying-Pan Creek and caught the first welcome glimpse of Pennock's Post. "Now," thought he, "I shall have a good night's rest in my own bunk,"—for he had brought no tent; so with a light heart in spite of his weariness, he turned toward the cabin.But he was doomed to disappointment. What was his astonishment at finding an enormous padlock and a heavy chain upon the door! And hardly had he touched the contrivance to determine whether it was locked, when there was an angry growl and the rattle of a chain within the building, and he knew by the sound that a fierce dog had sprung toward the door to oppose his entrance.If he had been surprised at seeing the padlock, it was nothing to the burning indignation which now possessed him. He passed around to the north window. Someone, probably an Indian, had loosened one of the wooden bars and torn a hole in the cheese-cloth in order to look into the interior. He took advantage of the rent to do likewise. In the southeast corner of the cabin he could see a great pile of goods. The dog, a huge and savage-looking beast, was chained to the corner post of Pennock's bunk, and there was a dish of water and another of meat on the floor. David was locked out of his own house, and it was garrisoned against him.CHAPTER XXXVIHOW DAVID MET THE OFFENDER AND WAS PREVENTED FROM SPEAKING HIS MINDHaving satisfied himself that the owner of the cache was not about, David threw off his pack, and sat down upon it with his back against the log wall to consider what he would do; and the more he thought about it, the more his anger rose.It was the custom on the trail to cache provisions anywhere. Both Indians and white men respected the unwritten law which held the theft of food in such a region to be worthy of death. No one but a starving man or a desperado would violate that law, and there were few such. Indeed, David had never seen any indication that this chance of loss was being reckoned with. But here was a man who apparently distrusted all his fellow-men,—who suspected every traveller on the trail,—who not only confiscated a cabin for the storage of his goods, but took contemptible measures to protect his property. David felt instinctively that he had to deal with as mean, sour, and selfish a person as it had ever been his lot to meet, and had not the slightest doubt that the character of the master, as is often the case, could be accuratelysurmised from the temper of his dog. The latter still growled and barked viciously at every sound.At last he rose and went to the rear of the cabin, thinking to enter by way of the fireplace. He knew he could easily loosen and remove two or three of the stakes which had surrounded the stove, and once inside the cabin, he could sleep in his own bunk, which was situated diagonally opposite the corner where the dog was chained. But no sooner had he begun to carry out this plan than the savage animal became furious, and it was perfectly evident that he would have no rest in the company of such a brute."If I only had my rifle," he groaned.It is entirely safe to say that with it he would have made an end of the animal without a moment's hesitation, flung its body into the creek, and taken possession of the cabin, which his own hands had helped to build. To be sure, he might kill the dog with the hatchet, but such butchery was repugnant to him, and he quickly dismissed the idea. On the whole, it would be best, he decided, to spend the night under the open sky, where there would be no distractions other than the wind in the trees and the continual singing of the mosquitoes. So he picked up his pack, trudged off into the grove of spruces to the south, and selected a dry, level, sandy spot near the edge of the bluff which fronted the river. Here he ate a frugal supper, then spread his blankets on theground, and so passed the night, though the assiduous musical insects which swarmed upon his head-net robbed him of nearly all sleep. After an early breakfast, he resumed his march, fully resolved, in the event of their meeting, to tell the owner of the cache exactly what he thought of him.This part of the trail was familiar, and he walked briskly, only pausing at the foot of the first small lake to catch two or three grayling, with which to eke out his scanty rations. These he roasted before a fire at noon, and, rudely cooked as they were, they proved very palatable, accompanied by small berries of a bluish color and black moss-berries, which grew there in abundance.He had passed the point where in May the Bradfords had left the main trail to turn toward the lake, when he descried a pack train approaching across an open meadow. As the caravan came nearer, David was convinced that he saw before him the owner of the cache and the canine. At the head of the procession leaped five or six dogs of fierce aspect. Following them came a round-shouldered old Irishman, riding on a big gray mule, and behind him was a string of mules loaded with sacks and boxes.The dogs set off toward David with a rush, as soon as they saw him, and it was all their master could do to check them. As it was, David made sure that his hatchet was free before he encountered the pack, and even had he brought that weapon into play, he would have beenoverwhelmed in a twinkling had not the dogs been in evident fear of the old man. Having jumped about David noisily, but without offering violence, they passed on in obedience to a gruff command. The rider of the mule now drew up and eyed David in silence a moment."Where'd ye come from?" he asked, in a rather impertinent tone, as David thought."Champlain's Landing," said David, shortly. He was not in a mood to be trifled with."How far may it be to Pennock's Post?" asked the stranger, still eying him suspiciously."All of fifteen miles," said David."Fifteen miles!" exclaimed the man, in anything but a pleasant voice. "I wouldn't have said 'twas that far,—an' it's there I must be to-night." Suddenly he glared again at David. "An' where'd ye stay last night?""At Pennock's Post," said David."Stayed at Pennock's, did ye?" snarled the old fellow. "Didn't ye find something there, hey?"This was just what David had been waiting for. Another moment, and he would have uncorked the explosive phials of wrath, but hearing a light footstep he turned, and the next instant, without a single angry word, set his lips hard.It was neither fear nor irresolution which occasioned this remarkable change on David's part, but a delicate,chivalrous sense of the consideration a man always owes to the gentler sex. On turning his head, he became aware, for the first time, of the presence of a woman.She was slender, gray-haired, and gentle-faced. She was neatly dressed in black, and had been walking behind the pack train. It flashed through David's mind instantly that this was the old man's wife, and he was conscious of a feeling of pity. Furthermore, she was the first white woman he had seen for many months. It was a delight just to look at her. Quarrel in her presence he could not, nor add one jot to the burden which he felt sure she must bear as the consort of such a man.It was the sight of this elderly woman which had sealed his lips, and now, to the astonishment of her husband, David turned and walked away without a reply. The woman spoke to him kindly as he passed, and he touched his cap respectfully. Hardly had he cleared the pack train before he heard the old man belaboring the mule on which he rode, and swearing roundly at the other animals. He wondered if the poor wife would have to walk those fifteen long miles while her husband rode.Not long afterward he met a second section of the train, in charge of a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, who evidently preferred not to overtake his employer.David pressed on with all possible speed, but since noon his left foot had been giving him pain, and he now became more crippled with every step. Whether it wasrheumatism or a bruise or strain he did not know, but by the time he reached the river he was ready to drop.To his delight, a large tent on the hither bank indicated the presence of some one at the ford, and he had no doubt he could cross dry-shod on the morrow. On reaching this tent he was surprised to find no one within, but, confident that the owner was near, he threw off his pack with a sigh of relief, and stretched himself wearily on a pile of canvas coverings.An hour or more had dragged by when David saw a slender young man, with a bushy brown beard, leading a bony horse toward the opposite bank of the river. He mounted at the ford, and, having crossed, took off the saddle and turned the steed loose."How are you?" said the stranger cordially, as he noticed David. "Been here long?""About an hour," answered David. "I thought you wouldn't mind my resting here.""Not at all. Make yourself at home. Didn't see anything of a stray mule round here, did you? I've been hunting that mule all the afternoon, but I can't find the critter.""No, I didn't see it.""I s'pose you met the old man? He owns this outfit here.""Oh, ho!" exclaimed David. "Is that so?" A sudden light came into his eyes, and traces of a smile appearedat the corners of his mouth. "What sort of a man is he?" he asked."Well," replied Smith,—he had informed David that such was his name, and Yonkers, New York, his home,—"he's different from any Irishman I ever saw. Hasn't any more sense of humor than a cow, and he's the worst-tempered man in this whole country. Look at that sick horse and you'll see how he treats his animals, and he don't treat his wife and us men much better. He's going to winter on a claim of his near Dawson, and wants me to work for him up there, but I don't know about it. I'd never have started with him if I'd known him. He hasn't paid me a cent of wages yet, and I don't believe he intends to."David saw that he had a friend and sympathizer in Smith."I'll tell you what I'm going to do," said he, "provided you're willing. I'm going to sleep in the tent to-night. If a man ever owed me a night's lodging, he's the man." And David told how he had been locked out of his own house, and cheated out of his rest."Well, well!" exclaimed Smith, when he heard the tale. "I just wish you could have put some lead into that dog. You'd have been perfectly justified. I guess you're entitled to rather more than a night's lodging. If the miserly old fellow had left me anything to eat, I'd see that you had a good supper and breakfast, but hetook every scrap of bacon with him, and I've only flour and coffee to live on till he gets back.""I've a pretty good chunk of bacon, but no flour," said David. "We'd better join forces. I'll contribute the bacon if you'll make some flapjacks."Smith gladly assented, so it was not long before David was eating a supper partly at his own, but largely also at the disagreeable packer's expense. Doubtless because it is human nature to enjoy levying a just tax on a mean man, he swallowed those flapjacks and drank that coffee with peculiar zest.The meal was no sooner finished than Smith caught sight of the truant mule on a distant hillside and set off to capture it, while David spread his blankets within the tent and presently turned in. He slept soundly till broad daylight, when he awoke with a start and found a fat ground-squirrel sitting comfortably on his breast, and eying him complacently. It ran out as soon as he stirred, and then amused itself by running up the roof of the tent on one side, and sliding down the other. Altogether it was the most lively ground-squirrel he had seen.This day was Sunday, and aside from the principle of the thing, David would have liked to rest on account of his lameness, but circumstances were against him. It was clearly necessary that he should make an exception to the usual rule of the Bradfords, and travel throughoutthis Sabbath. Smith's stock of food was running as low as his own. Breakfast over, he himself had only a piece of jerked beef and two biscuits for a luncheon. His only course was to proceed.Smith caught and saddled the poor horse, which had been a fine animal, but was now so weak with overwork, starvation, and sickness that it could hardly stand. David mounted with misgivings as to whether the tottering beast had strength to carry him, but they crossed the ford in safety. Dismounting on the farther bank, he turned the horse back into the water, and headed him for the point where Smith was standing; then shouting his thanks and a good-by, he limped off along the trail.Twenty miles on a foot which could scarcely bear the touch of the ground! He set his teeth hard and plodded on until the pain compelled him to sit down for a brief rest. Every mile was earned with suffering. All day long the struggle continued, and it required all the grit he possessed to keep him going. Not a person did he see, though he caught sight of several horses grazing, and heard distant shouts of men who were probably searching for them. At seven in the evening he threw himself into Reitz's camp utterly spent.CHAPTER XXXVIIHOMEWARD BOUNDThe condition of David's foot obliged him to remain two days at the fishing-camp with Reitz and Humphrey, who feasted him royally on fresh-caught salmon.Under the teaching of Reitz he soon acquired the knack of using the long gaff, tipped with an iron hook, with which the fish were caught. Standing on the bank beside one of the deeper pools of the Klukshu River, which here was little more than a brook, he would poke about the bottom with the gaff until it struck against a salmon, when by a quick and dexterous jerk the fish would be hooked and drawn up out of the water. Often the salmon were so heavy that they had to be dragged out rather than lifted, for fear of breaking the pole.The finest variety was the king salmon, very large and with flesh of a deep pink tint. Then there was a smaller kind whose flesh was red. Not infrequently a fish was caught which, in its long journey from the sea, had been bruised and gashed on the sharp rocks. Such were unfit for food, but the healthy salmon weresplit and dressed and hung upon a frame of poles to dry, a smoky fire being built underneath to promote the curing and keep the flies from laying their eggs in the meat.The Stik Indians across the stream caught the salmon not only with the gaff, but also by a weir of poles which they constructed in the brook. In this trap hundreds were ensnared, and the natives were able to take a sufficient number to supply them with food throughout the winter and spring. One of the Indian women in this family was noticeable for a spike of wood or bone set in the flesh of her chin by way of ornament.On the third day David proceeded to Moran's Camp, accompanied by Humphrey, who carried a load of fresh salmon. Almost the first question asked of him there was, "Where are Hovey and Herrick?""Why," replied David, in astonishment, "I supposed they were here long ago. It's a little over two weeks since they left Champlain's Landing in the boat."This intelligence caused a flutter of alarm in the camp of the Thirty-six, and a searching party would undoubtedly have been despatched on the following day had not the missing men turned up that evening, weather-browned and hungry, with a remarkable tale of obstacles encountered and overcome. They had been several days in forcing their heavy boat up the river to the lake, and there they had met with such continuoushead-winds and rough water that progress had been difficult and dangerous,—often, indeed, impossible. They had camped for days upon the shore with little to eat, waiting for a chance to proceed, and were almost despairing when the wind providentially changed."Hurrah!" shouted Roly, when David appeared on Alder Creek. "You're just in time, Dave. Now we can go out with the next pack train."David failed to grasp his enthusiastic brother's meaning until later, for he was immediately surrounded and made to sit down and relate all his adventures up to that moment. This done, he begged Roly for an explanation of his remark about going out."Why," said Roly, delightedly, "we're all ready to start for home. Father or Uncle Will can tell you more about the reasons." The boy seemed as eager to go out of the country as he had once been to come into it."Yes," said Mr. Bradford, corroboratively, "the leader of the Thirty-six wished to control the whole of the river and its tributary creeks, and instructed Mr. Scott, his second in command, to make us an offer for our claims. We thought the offer a fair one, and as we can not well winter here nor look after our claims another season, we have accepted his price.""Good!" said David. "I'm glad to hear it."Uncle Will added that they had made arrangementsto accompany the next pack train of the Thirty-six when it returned to the coast."Do you mean that we shall ride out on horses?" asked David, incredulously. The thought of such luxurious travelling after his recent hardships surpassed his wildest dreams."No," answered his uncle. "The horses will carry our loads, but it isn't likely we shall ride except in fording the rivers. I understand it's extremely perilous to try to cross the Alsek, the Klaheena, and the Salmon rivers without horses, and several men have been drowned this season in the attempt. Even horses are sometimes swept away. You must know that in summer these streams, fed by the melting ice and snow in the mountains, become swift, muddy torrents of far greater depth and force than in the winter. Streams which a boy could wade last March would now give an elephant a tussle. It's most fortunate that we can have the use of the pack train."Two days later, on the fifth of August, word came that the horses had arrived at Moran's and would leave there the following evening on their return. Several of the animals were brought up to Alder Creek and loaded with the goods of the Bradfords, who of course had very little to carry out, compared with what they had brought in, since their provisions were nearly exhausted and they were to leave their tools and surplus goodsof all kinds with the Thirty-six. Lucky and Coffee Jack were also to be left behind in the employment of the larger party.On their way down the river the Bradfords paused at the tent of the scurvy-stricken Tom Moore to leave him some delicacies and wish him a speedy recovery. Here also they exchanged farewells with King and Baldwin.Not far above Moran's Camp David discovered a gray boulder thickly studded with fossil trilobites, which he would have liked to present to the museum at home, but its great weight made its removal impossible.Having taken leave of the Thirty-six, and of Lucky and Coffee Jack, who had served them so long and faithfully, the Bradfords followed the horses to the valley below, where they were to spend the night.The pack train was in charge of a tall, lean, brown-whiskered man known as Bud Beagle, and two assistant packers, one of whom, a big, thick-set, good-natured Missourian, went by the name of Phil. The other, a gray-haired man named Joyce, had once kept a bookstore in one of the Eastern States, and now, after a life of varied fortunes, found himself a packer and cook on the Dalton trail.Phil made an important find soon after the camping-place was reached. He came upon some bushes loaded with ripe red currants not far below the mouth of thegorge, and, having gathered a heaping panful, brought them to Joyce, who gladly set about making some currant preserve in the most approved style. He boiled the currants over a hot fire, added an extravagant amount of sugar, and at length produced the most delicious mixture imaginable.As the night was fair, no tents were pitched. The blankets were spread on the grass under the open sky, and the party would have spent a comfortable night had not the weather turned frosty. So cold was it that a skim of ice formed in a pail of water which was left uncovered."Gentlemen," said Bud, addressing the elder Bradfords at breakfast, "if you take my advice, you'll start right away as soon as you've finished. It'll take us an hour or two to round up and load the horses, but there's no need for you to wait. It's close on to thirty mile to Dalton's, and it would be late afore you got there if you was to start right now."Accordingly, the Bradfords were on the march before eight o'clock. They paused for a salmon dinner at Reitz's camp, where the pack train overtook and passed them, then plodded on again. It was the longest day's march in their experience, and without special incident save the meeting with a large herd of cattle and a flock of sheep bound for Dawson.Near the trading-post a party of mounted police werebuilding a cabin. They hospitably invited the tired four in to supper, treating them to roast mutton, for which the recently passing flock had evidently been laid under contribution. During the meal Mr. Bratnober strolled in and entertained them with an account of a long journey to the headwaters of White River, from which he had just returned. He had been accompanied by Jack Dalton and a tall native called Indian Jack. Their object had been to find copper, and they had been successful. Mr. Bratnober exhibited several rough slabs of the pure metal as big as a man's hand, and said that he had brought back about thirty pounds of it, and could have picked up tons if there had been means to carry it. He naturally would not tell the exact locality where these riches were discovered, but said it was in a region never before explored by white men. They had not remained in the copper district as long as they had wished to do, because of a band of Indians, armed only with bows and arrows, who had made hostile demonstrations.From the police the Bradfords learned that Dalton's store had been robbed of several thousand dollars a few days before, while Ike Martin was temporarily absent, and that about the same time two prospectors had been held up by highwaymen on the trail and relieved of considerable gold dust. Search was being made for the robbers, who were supposed to be twotough-looking characters who had been seen around the premises, and Ike Martin had started for Pyramid Harbor to put the authorities there on the watch. Ike, imprudently, as the police thought, had taken quite a sum of his own money with him, which he purposed to send to a Seattle bank."Have you any idea who the robbers are?" asked Uncle Will of the police captain."Yes," replied that officer; "we think they are two of 'Soapy' Smith's gang. The suspicious characters seen here answered the description of two of 'Soapy's' men.""And who is 'Soapy' Smith?" asked Mr. Bradford, who had heard the name, but could not recall in what connection."Why," explained the officer, "he's that chap who organized a gang of toughs at Skagway last winter and terrorized the place. Finally he insulted the wrong man, and received a quieting dose of lead; after which the citizens drove his followers out of town, and they scattered over the various trails."Uncle Will said nothing, but the boys noticed that he puffed with unwonted vigor on his pipe and seemed to be thinking deeply. He was, indeed, thinking that it would be a serious matter to encounter those two desperadoes in a lonely part of the trail.

CHAPTER XXXIIIALONE IN THE WILDERNESSDavid had not realized what it meant to be alone in the wilderness. When he had agreed, back in the camp on Alder Creek, to take charge of a cabin for a fortnight, he had looked upon it as rather a novel and pleasant undertaking, in spite of his father's warning. Now, as he watched his friends ride away, and whistled back the dog, who showed a desire to follow them, it must be confessed that he felt quite differently about it. But he was a stout-hearted lad, and sensibly decided that the best way to forget his loneliness was to keep busy.Fortunately work lay ready to his hand. His predecessors had carried away their sleeping-tent, but they had shown him in the cabin some large pieces of canvas which, with a little ingenuity, could be transformed into quite a comfortable shelter. They had built a raised bedstead of poles inside their tent, and this structure remained in place. Above it was a sort of ridgepole, which had supported the tent. With some difficulty David flung an end of the largest piece of canvas over this pole, and found, on drawing it intoposition, that it would quite reach the ground on both sides and completely cover the bedstead. Having made the corners fast to small spruces, he set the other pieces of canvas in place across the rear of the tent; and though they could not be made to fill the whole space, they contributed materially to the shelter. Besides, that end was protected by the ridge of sand with its fringe of trees. The front of the tent was entirely open and faced northwest upon the beautiful stretch of the river where it flowed away from the bluff. Beyond, and perhaps ten miles distant, was a long range of mountains bounding the valley on the north, which Champlain had said was the Yukon Divide. The waters on its farther slope flowed into a tributary of the Yukon, while those on the nearer side reached the Pacific much more directly.When the tent had been made as snug as possible, David brought heavy blankets from the cabin and spread them upon the poles of the bedstead. So interested did he become in arranging his quarters that he quite forgot that he must get his own supper; and when hunger at length compelled him to think of the matter, his watch informed him that it was after six o'clock. By good luck, he found, on examining the larder, that there were odds and ends of one kind and another sufficient for a meal.After supper he cut dry wood for the little stove andpiled it in the cook-tent. Hardly was this done when a thunder-storm, which had been brewing in the north, drove him into the new tent. The sky grew dark, the lightning flashed over the northern mountains, the wind arose and howled in the forest, and the rain beat down on the frail canvas roof. David lay on his rude couch, with Shep curled up on the ground at his feet, and watched the storm, and thought, with a longing he had never known before, of his far-away home in New England,—of his father and brother and uncle in their camp on Alder Creek,—and more than once, it is certain, of the fair-haired little girl at Seattle. But at last, in spite of his loneliness, having carefully arranged his head-net over his face and settled down among the blankets, he dropped off into oblivion, and only awakened when the morning sun was smiling warmly down on the valley.It was indeed a fine morning. A few gray clouds curled about Mount Bratnober and Mount Champlain and an unnamed peak to the west. Red squirrels were scampering and chattering in the trees, a fat ground-squirrel was sitting up demurely on the point of the bluff like a small brown statue, birds were singing in all directions, and the feeling of isolation which had oppressed the solitary youth in the evening vanished like magic under the bright influence of day.Having fetched a pail of water from the river, Davidperformed his toilet, and then set about getting breakfast. He had helped his uncle more or less and could fry bacon to a turn; but he was rather tired of bacon, and cast about for some more appetizing dish. Picking up a can of baking-powder, he read the recipes printed thereon, but without finding just what he wanted. Then he bethought himself of a rule for johnny-cakes which Hovey had written out for him. Johnny-cakes would be an excellent breakfast dish, he said to himself. With the aid of a few dry twigs a fire was quickly kindled in the little stove, and a kettle of water set on to heat for coffee and for dish-washing, while the young cook measured out the flour, corn-meal, crystallized egg, baking-powder, and salt which were to compose the cakes. When he had stirred sufficient water into this mixture to moisten it thoroughly, he greased the frying-pan with a bacon rind, and as soon as it was hot he ladled out the batter.How deliciously it sizzled in the pan! He could hardly wait for the cooking to be done; but at length there were nine nicely browned johnny-cakes begging to be eaten. A little sugar and water heated on the stove served for syrup, and canned butter was also at hand. David found not the slightest difficulty in disposing of the nine cakes, and thought them by far the best he had ever eaten. They were much too good for Shep, who was offered some canned corned beef instead; but toDavid's surprise, the dog refused to eat the meat and declined all invitations to join his master at breakfast. Indeed, for nearly a week Shep would eat nothing; but as he seemed in good condition, David came to the conclusion that he had found the carcass of the steer which the cattlemen had killed, and was living by preference on that.But if the dog would not partake, at least the birds would. They fluttered fearlessly about the tent—magpies, butcher-birds, and others—and carried off every stray scrap; while two tiny song-sparrows, most fearless and friendly of all, actually hopped into the tent and over his feet and upon the table while he was at meals, and picked up the crumbs as fast as they fell.With a little practice David became a competent cook. His johnny-cakes had turned out so well that he made them every morning. He also had biscuits, omelets, baked beans, rice, dried fruits and vegetables, bacon, squirrels, and grayling to choose from, and lived very comfortably. The biscuits were as successful as the johnny-cakes, with one notable exception,—that was when he conceived the idea of adding a pinch of nutmeg spice. All might have gone well had not the cover come off unexpectedly and allowed half the contents of the can to go into the batter. When he had removed all the spice he could with a spoon, there still remained so much that the biscuits turned out a dark pink color;and as for eating them, it required a pretty strong stomach.The grayling could sometimes be caught quite plentifully from the rafts or from the sandy curve on the other side of the bluff. As for the squirrels, he could not find it in his heart to kill those which chattered so sociably around his dwelling; so when he needed fresh meat, he strolled down the trail with Shep and shot squirrels with which he was in no wise acquainted.One evening he shot an animal which was swimming in the river. It proved to be a musk-rat. He remembered reading that some Indian tribes relish the flesh of this rodent, and, having cooked it experimentally, he found the meat both wholesome and palatable.He early set himself to the task of bringing order out of chaos in the cabin, where boxes and cans of provisions were indiscriminately mixed with clothing bags and snow-shoes. Cutting down two straight young trees, he contrived a shelf across the rear of the building upon which a portion of the goods could be disposed, thus leaving much more room upon the floor. After the first two or three nights he slept in the cabin, because the mosquitoes were less troublesome in the comparative darkness of the building, and also because he felt more secure there against the larger inhabitants of the forest. Presently he found himself almost reconciled to this mode of life. He was his own master. He could goor come with absolute freedom. In the intervals of his work he could hunt or fish, read or dream, or study nature in the animal and plant life about him. There was a sort of charm in it, after all. But as often as evening came around, he heartily wished he might have some one besides the dog to talk to.Day after day he saw no human face and heard no voice but his own. If a regiment had passed on the main trail he might never have known it, had they gone quietly. How many pack trains actually went by in that lonely week he never knew. Once he heard a rifle-shot and the bark of a dog, and running down his own path to the trail, he found fresh hoof-prints, but the travellers were out of sight. He happened to meet no one on any of his hunting excursions, nor did any Indian visit him. For seven long days he was alone.

ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS

David had not realized what it meant to be alone in the wilderness. When he had agreed, back in the camp on Alder Creek, to take charge of a cabin for a fortnight, he had looked upon it as rather a novel and pleasant undertaking, in spite of his father's warning. Now, as he watched his friends ride away, and whistled back the dog, who showed a desire to follow them, it must be confessed that he felt quite differently about it. But he was a stout-hearted lad, and sensibly decided that the best way to forget his loneliness was to keep busy.

Fortunately work lay ready to his hand. His predecessors had carried away their sleeping-tent, but they had shown him in the cabin some large pieces of canvas which, with a little ingenuity, could be transformed into quite a comfortable shelter. They had built a raised bedstead of poles inside their tent, and this structure remained in place. Above it was a sort of ridgepole, which had supported the tent. With some difficulty David flung an end of the largest piece of canvas over this pole, and found, on drawing it intoposition, that it would quite reach the ground on both sides and completely cover the bedstead. Having made the corners fast to small spruces, he set the other pieces of canvas in place across the rear of the tent; and though they could not be made to fill the whole space, they contributed materially to the shelter. Besides, that end was protected by the ridge of sand with its fringe of trees. The front of the tent was entirely open and faced northwest upon the beautiful stretch of the river where it flowed away from the bluff. Beyond, and perhaps ten miles distant, was a long range of mountains bounding the valley on the north, which Champlain had said was the Yukon Divide. The waters on its farther slope flowed into a tributary of the Yukon, while those on the nearer side reached the Pacific much more directly.

When the tent had been made as snug as possible, David brought heavy blankets from the cabin and spread them upon the poles of the bedstead. So interested did he become in arranging his quarters that he quite forgot that he must get his own supper; and when hunger at length compelled him to think of the matter, his watch informed him that it was after six o'clock. By good luck, he found, on examining the larder, that there were odds and ends of one kind and another sufficient for a meal.

After supper he cut dry wood for the little stove andpiled it in the cook-tent. Hardly was this done when a thunder-storm, which had been brewing in the north, drove him into the new tent. The sky grew dark, the lightning flashed over the northern mountains, the wind arose and howled in the forest, and the rain beat down on the frail canvas roof. David lay on his rude couch, with Shep curled up on the ground at his feet, and watched the storm, and thought, with a longing he had never known before, of his far-away home in New England,—of his father and brother and uncle in their camp on Alder Creek,—and more than once, it is certain, of the fair-haired little girl at Seattle. But at last, in spite of his loneliness, having carefully arranged his head-net over his face and settled down among the blankets, he dropped off into oblivion, and only awakened when the morning sun was smiling warmly down on the valley.

It was indeed a fine morning. A few gray clouds curled about Mount Bratnober and Mount Champlain and an unnamed peak to the west. Red squirrels were scampering and chattering in the trees, a fat ground-squirrel was sitting up demurely on the point of the bluff like a small brown statue, birds were singing in all directions, and the feeling of isolation which had oppressed the solitary youth in the evening vanished like magic under the bright influence of day.

Having fetched a pail of water from the river, Davidperformed his toilet, and then set about getting breakfast. He had helped his uncle more or less and could fry bacon to a turn; but he was rather tired of bacon, and cast about for some more appetizing dish. Picking up a can of baking-powder, he read the recipes printed thereon, but without finding just what he wanted. Then he bethought himself of a rule for johnny-cakes which Hovey had written out for him. Johnny-cakes would be an excellent breakfast dish, he said to himself. With the aid of a few dry twigs a fire was quickly kindled in the little stove, and a kettle of water set on to heat for coffee and for dish-washing, while the young cook measured out the flour, corn-meal, crystallized egg, baking-powder, and salt which were to compose the cakes. When he had stirred sufficient water into this mixture to moisten it thoroughly, he greased the frying-pan with a bacon rind, and as soon as it was hot he ladled out the batter.

How deliciously it sizzled in the pan! He could hardly wait for the cooking to be done; but at length there were nine nicely browned johnny-cakes begging to be eaten. A little sugar and water heated on the stove served for syrup, and canned butter was also at hand. David found not the slightest difficulty in disposing of the nine cakes, and thought them by far the best he had ever eaten. They were much too good for Shep, who was offered some canned corned beef instead; but toDavid's surprise, the dog refused to eat the meat and declined all invitations to join his master at breakfast. Indeed, for nearly a week Shep would eat nothing; but as he seemed in good condition, David came to the conclusion that he had found the carcass of the steer which the cattlemen had killed, and was living by preference on that.

But if the dog would not partake, at least the birds would. They fluttered fearlessly about the tent—magpies, butcher-birds, and others—and carried off every stray scrap; while two tiny song-sparrows, most fearless and friendly of all, actually hopped into the tent and over his feet and upon the table while he was at meals, and picked up the crumbs as fast as they fell.

With a little practice David became a competent cook. His johnny-cakes had turned out so well that he made them every morning. He also had biscuits, omelets, baked beans, rice, dried fruits and vegetables, bacon, squirrels, and grayling to choose from, and lived very comfortably. The biscuits were as successful as the johnny-cakes, with one notable exception,—that was when he conceived the idea of adding a pinch of nutmeg spice. All might have gone well had not the cover come off unexpectedly and allowed half the contents of the can to go into the batter. When he had removed all the spice he could with a spoon, there still remained so much that the biscuits turned out a dark pink color;and as for eating them, it required a pretty strong stomach.

The grayling could sometimes be caught quite plentifully from the rafts or from the sandy curve on the other side of the bluff. As for the squirrels, he could not find it in his heart to kill those which chattered so sociably around his dwelling; so when he needed fresh meat, he strolled down the trail with Shep and shot squirrels with which he was in no wise acquainted.

One evening he shot an animal which was swimming in the river. It proved to be a musk-rat. He remembered reading that some Indian tribes relish the flesh of this rodent, and, having cooked it experimentally, he found the meat both wholesome and palatable.

He early set himself to the task of bringing order out of chaos in the cabin, where boxes and cans of provisions were indiscriminately mixed with clothing bags and snow-shoes. Cutting down two straight young trees, he contrived a shelf across the rear of the building upon which a portion of the goods could be disposed, thus leaving much more room upon the floor. After the first two or three nights he slept in the cabin, because the mosquitoes were less troublesome in the comparative darkness of the building, and also because he felt more secure there against the larger inhabitants of the forest. Presently he found himself almost reconciled to this mode of life. He was his own master. He could goor come with absolute freedom. In the intervals of his work he could hunt or fish, read or dream, or study nature in the animal and plant life about him. There was a sort of charm in it, after all. But as often as evening came around, he heartily wished he might have some one besides the dog to talk to.

Day after day he saw no human face and heard no voice but his own. If a regiment had passed on the main trail he might never have known it, had they gone quietly. How many pack trains actually went by in that lonely week he never knew. Once he heard a rifle-shot and the bark of a dog, and running down his own path to the trail, he found fresh hoof-prints, but the travellers were out of sight. He happened to meet no one on any of his hunting excursions, nor did any Indian visit him. For seven long days he was alone.

CHAPTER XXXIVRAIDED BY A WOLFThe third evening after the departure of the captain's party David was sitting in the cook-tent watching the last embers of the sunset and the varying lights and shadows on the river. Shep stood near the edge of the bluff.Suddenly the dog's ears pointed forward attentively and his whole body quivered. It was clear that something unusual had come in sight. No sooner had David reached the brow of the bluff than he saw the cause of Shep's excitement. A black animal was lapping the water where the river curved to the northwest, about three hundred feet distant.The semi-darkness and the heavy mosquito net over his face prevented David from seeing clearly, but he instantly formed the conclusion that it was a dog belonging to some pack train on the neighboring trail, and whistled to see what it would do.On hearing the whistle the animal raised its head, gazed a moment at the two figures on the bluff, resumed its drinking, and then, having satisfied its thirst, turned and started up the slope. As it did so, David was consciousthat it had a slinking gait unlike that of a dog, and for the first time he thought how queer it was that Shep had not offered to run down and make friends with the stranger."It's a small black bear," flashed into his mind. Instantly he ran with all speed to the cabin for the shot-gun, which he kept loaded with buckshot. The captain's party had carried off the only rifle, and David was now sorry he had not brought his own. He caught up the shot-gun, however, and slipping a few extra cartridges into his pocket, ran back to the bluff where Shep stood guard.The strange animal had disappeared.For a moment David was disconcerted. He had not thought the bear could get away so quickly, nor could he be sure whether it had gone into the fringe of trees and bushes along the river-bank or continued up the slope. He hesitated, too, before setting out to attack such an animal with only a shot-gun for a weapon and a dog of doubtful courage as an ally. The next instant, however, he had decided to track and kill the beast if possible, and calling Shep to follow, he hurried down to the river's sandy brink to examine the tracks by the waning light. He was quite puzzled at finding that they were almost identical in appearance with those made by Shep, but at length the truth dawned upon him. He had to deal, not with a young bear, but with a full-grown wolf!He now endeavored to make Shep take the scent, but Shep was not trained to such work and sniffed around indiscriminately without attempting to follow the animal's trail. There was nothing for it but to track the wolf himself. He accordingly traced every track as far as it would lead him. One proceeded from the fringe of bushes to the point where the animal drank, while another led straight up the face of the bluff. The latter he followed as far as the sand continued; but the top of the elevation was grassy, and in the growing darkness the trail was quickly lost. Keeping his eyes and ears alert for the slightest sound, David penetrated some distance into the open woods, but without discovering further signs of the animal. Satisfied that nothing more could be done, he returned to camp, and took unusual pains to fasten the frail cabin door securely when he turned in for the night.Nor was he destined to sleep without an alarm. A noise of rattling tin awoke him with a start. The interior of the cabin was quite dark, since, as we have said, there were no windows; but the nights were not yet without some light, and feeble rays outlined every chink as David sat up, threw off his mosquito net, and looked around. Again came the rattle of tin. It evidently proceeded from a pile of empty cans just outside the cabin. He brought himself to a kneeling posture and pressed his face close to one of the widestchinks. Presently he distinguished an animal nosing among the cans and making the noise which had awakened him. It was Shep. David spoke to the dog, and having seen him walk away with a somewhat shame-faced air, he settled himself once more among the blankets and was soon asleep again.Seven days had passed when the monotony of his existence was broken by the arrival of strangers. It was in the afternoon that he heard voices and the sound of horses from the direction of the trail, and a minute later saw two young fellows ride up, followed by a dozen pack animals."Hello!" exclaimed the foremost rider as he saw David, "this place has changed hands, I guess, since we was here last. How d'you do? Hovey and Herrick gone away?""Yes," answered David. "They left for the Kah Sha River a week ago. You've been here before?""Oh, yes! We're packing back and forth between Pyramid Harbor and Five Finger Rapids for the owner of these horses. We always like to put up here for the night, for it's pretty lonesome on this trail.""That's so," said David, feelingly. He, too, was not a little pleased at the thought of company, and the more so in the present instance, because the new-comers were near his own age. The elder was slender, with dark hair and a rather sparse growth of beard, and mighthave been twenty-two or three, while the other was a ruddy, plump lad of about seventeen."My name's Close," said the dark-haired one, as he dismounted and proceeded to unsaddle his horse. "We're from Wisconsin."In return for this information David gave his own name and residence.The Wisconsin boys took the packs from their horses and turned them loose to graze."Now for supper," said Close."You'll find a stove and dishes and a table, such as it is, in the cook-tent yonder," said David, hospitably. "I guess you know your way around. Just make yourselves at home, and I'll have the fire going in a jiffy."It took the strangers but a short time to cook their evening meal, and as soon as they had finished with the stove David prepared his own supper, and the three sat down together."Can you spare us enough butter for our bread?" asked Close. "We're all out.""Yes," said David, passing it over, "help yourself." He knew there were but two more cans in the cache under his charge, but he felt certain the captain would wish him to extend such hospitalities as lay in his power; and he would much rather have gone without butter himself for a time than deny it to his guests.They, however, had no intention of trenching on David's slender stock without returning an equivalent."You don't seem to have any condensed milk," observed the younger of the two."No," said David. "There isn't a drop. I've looked the whole cache over for it.""Well, here! You just take what you want out of our can. We've got milk if we haven't got butter. Try some of that dried fruit, too."Having thanked his friends, David inquired if the trail was in good shape. He was thinking that before long he would be tramping back over it."Yes," answered Close, "most of it's good; but there's some bad bogs where the horses get mired. Those cattle herds have cut it all to pieces where the ground is soft. We haven't had much trouble, though.""No," put in his companion, "when we get started we can go along well enough. The worst of this packing business is ketching the horses in the morning. The critters are as sly as foxes. They'll stand so still in the thickets when they hear you coming that you can go within ten feet of 'em and never know they're there.""They keep pretty well together, though," said the other, "and the tracks are generally plain. Besides, there's a bell on one of them.""If they were my horses," declared David, "I would bell them all.""And it wouldn't be a bad idea," said Close, with a laugh.By David's invitation the Wisconsin boys slept that night on the bedstead in the tent. They breakfasted early and then set out to round up their horses, which they accomplished in a couple of hours after a long tramp through the woods. Having loaded the animals, they bade David good-by and rode away toward the trail, presently shouting back, "Better call the dog; he's following the horses."David whistled Shep back and ordered him to lie down. It was no wonder he thought every one his master, he had changed owners so often. He now lay down quietly enough on the ground before the cook-tent and appeared to have forgotten all about the pack train.An hour later David finished his wood-chopping and suddenly noticed that Shep was gone. At first he thought little of the matter, supposing him to be somewhere in the neighborhood, but when another hour passed without him, he feared Shep had followed the horses, after all. He whistled again and again, but no dog came; and now he was perplexed to know what to do. By this time the pack train was six or eight miles away. The dog would overtake it easily, buthecould not hope to do so before it halted for the night; and he did not like to leave so long the property of which he was incharge. The Wisconsin boys might send the dog back, or, failing in that, they would doubtless deliver him up to the captain, whom they would probably see before many days. So, however much he regretted the loss of his only companion, he concluded to let the matter drop.A little later, from the sand-ridge back of the tents, he perceived a column of white smoke above the trees near the river, a quarter of a mile to the southeast. It indicated the presence of either white men or Indians on the trail, and Shep might be with them. David lost no time in locking the cabin door and setting out rapidly in the direction of the smoke.On his hunting excursions he had noticed an Indian canoe bottom-up near that spot, and naturally supposed that the dusky owners had now arrived. He found, however, that two white men had kindled a fire against a fallen tree for the purpose of cooking their midday meal. Their two horses were grazing near by. The strangers were men of middle age, with thick, grizzled beards and sunbrowned faces. They seemed surprised to see David, but greeted him pleasantly."Camping near here?" they asked."Yes," answered David, seating himself sociably; "at Champlain's Landing.""Oh, yes!" exclaimed one of the men, "I saw the sign-board on the tree where your path turns off, but I didn't know any one was there.""Have you come from Dawson?" asked David."Yes; we left there nine days ago.""Any new strikes?""No, none recently; but the people keep swarming in over the other trails.""What are they paying in wages?""Seven to ten dollars a day.""I've heard it was very unhealthy there.""Yes, there's a good deal of scurvy and pneumonia.""Any starvation last winter?""No, but it was a tight squeeze for some of them.""Does a man stand much chance of a fortune who goes there now?""Not if he expects to dig gold. The paying ground is all taken up and a good deal more. There's a better chance now in trading. In fact, that's what my partner and I are going into. We've discovered that some things are mighty scarce in Dawson, and people will pay almost anything for them, so we're going out to the coast to bring in a stock of goods. We shall try to be back before cold weather."David had kept his eyes open for Shep, but seeing nothing of him, he asked if they had met two young fellows that morning and had noticed a black and white dog. The men remembered the pack train well enough, but neither had any recollection of seeing the dog. So David went back to the Landing more mystified than ever.With Shep away, he felt instinctively that the wolf would pay him another visit; nor was he mistaken. That night he slept deeply and heard no sound, but when he arose and went out to the cook-tent, he rubbed his eyes in astonishment. Wolf-tracks were everywhere, dishes were scattered about, a five-pound piece of bacon had disappeared, and the butter can, which had stood in a pail of water on the top of the rude sideboard five feet above the ground now lay on the grass, where the wolf had ineffectually tried to get at the contents. Strange to say, the pail from which the can had been abstracted stood unmoved in its accustomed place.David picked up the scattered utensils and smiled rather grimly to think how he had slept for two nights in the open, unprotected tent, exposed to this midnight prowler.

RAIDED BY A WOLF

The third evening after the departure of the captain's party David was sitting in the cook-tent watching the last embers of the sunset and the varying lights and shadows on the river. Shep stood near the edge of the bluff.

Suddenly the dog's ears pointed forward attentively and his whole body quivered. It was clear that something unusual had come in sight. No sooner had David reached the brow of the bluff than he saw the cause of Shep's excitement. A black animal was lapping the water where the river curved to the northwest, about three hundred feet distant.

The semi-darkness and the heavy mosquito net over his face prevented David from seeing clearly, but he instantly formed the conclusion that it was a dog belonging to some pack train on the neighboring trail, and whistled to see what it would do.

On hearing the whistle the animal raised its head, gazed a moment at the two figures on the bluff, resumed its drinking, and then, having satisfied its thirst, turned and started up the slope. As it did so, David was consciousthat it had a slinking gait unlike that of a dog, and for the first time he thought how queer it was that Shep had not offered to run down and make friends with the stranger.

"It's a small black bear," flashed into his mind. Instantly he ran with all speed to the cabin for the shot-gun, which he kept loaded with buckshot. The captain's party had carried off the only rifle, and David was now sorry he had not brought his own. He caught up the shot-gun, however, and slipping a few extra cartridges into his pocket, ran back to the bluff where Shep stood guard.

The strange animal had disappeared.

For a moment David was disconcerted. He had not thought the bear could get away so quickly, nor could he be sure whether it had gone into the fringe of trees and bushes along the river-bank or continued up the slope. He hesitated, too, before setting out to attack such an animal with only a shot-gun for a weapon and a dog of doubtful courage as an ally. The next instant, however, he had decided to track and kill the beast if possible, and calling Shep to follow, he hurried down to the river's sandy brink to examine the tracks by the waning light. He was quite puzzled at finding that they were almost identical in appearance with those made by Shep, but at length the truth dawned upon him. He had to deal, not with a young bear, but with a full-grown wolf!

He now endeavored to make Shep take the scent, but Shep was not trained to such work and sniffed around indiscriminately without attempting to follow the animal's trail. There was nothing for it but to track the wolf himself. He accordingly traced every track as far as it would lead him. One proceeded from the fringe of bushes to the point where the animal drank, while another led straight up the face of the bluff. The latter he followed as far as the sand continued; but the top of the elevation was grassy, and in the growing darkness the trail was quickly lost. Keeping his eyes and ears alert for the slightest sound, David penetrated some distance into the open woods, but without discovering further signs of the animal. Satisfied that nothing more could be done, he returned to camp, and took unusual pains to fasten the frail cabin door securely when he turned in for the night.

Nor was he destined to sleep without an alarm. A noise of rattling tin awoke him with a start. The interior of the cabin was quite dark, since, as we have said, there were no windows; but the nights were not yet without some light, and feeble rays outlined every chink as David sat up, threw off his mosquito net, and looked around. Again came the rattle of tin. It evidently proceeded from a pile of empty cans just outside the cabin. He brought himself to a kneeling posture and pressed his face close to one of the widestchinks. Presently he distinguished an animal nosing among the cans and making the noise which had awakened him. It was Shep. David spoke to the dog, and having seen him walk away with a somewhat shame-faced air, he settled himself once more among the blankets and was soon asleep again.

Seven days had passed when the monotony of his existence was broken by the arrival of strangers. It was in the afternoon that he heard voices and the sound of horses from the direction of the trail, and a minute later saw two young fellows ride up, followed by a dozen pack animals.

"Hello!" exclaimed the foremost rider as he saw David, "this place has changed hands, I guess, since we was here last. How d'you do? Hovey and Herrick gone away?"

"Yes," answered David. "They left for the Kah Sha River a week ago. You've been here before?"

"Oh, yes! We're packing back and forth between Pyramid Harbor and Five Finger Rapids for the owner of these horses. We always like to put up here for the night, for it's pretty lonesome on this trail."

"That's so," said David, feelingly. He, too, was not a little pleased at the thought of company, and the more so in the present instance, because the new-comers were near his own age. The elder was slender, with dark hair and a rather sparse growth of beard, and mighthave been twenty-two or three, while the other was a ruddy, plump lad of about seventeen.

"My name's Close," said the dark-haired one, as he dismounted and proceeded to unsaddle his horse. "We're from Wisconsin."

In return for this information David gave his own name and residence.

The Wisconsin boys took the packs from their horses and turned them loose to graze.

"Now for supper," said Close.

"You'll find a stove and dishes and a table, such as it is, in the cook-tent yonder," said David, hospitably. "I guess you know your way around. Just make yourselves at home, and I'll have the fire going in a jiffy."

It took the strangers but a short time to cook their evening meal, and as soon as they had finished with the stove David prepared his own supper, and the three sat down together.

"Can you spare us enough butter for our bread?" asked Close. "We're all out."

"Yes," said David, passing it over, "help yourself." He knew there were but two more cans in the cache under his charge, but he felt certain the captain would wish him to extend such hospitalities as lay in his power; and he would much rather have gone without butter himself for a time than deny it to his guests.They, however, had no intention of trenching on David's slender stock without returning an equivalent.

"You don't seem to have any condensed milk," observed the younger of the two.

"No," said David. "There isn't a drop. I've looked the whole cache over for it."

"Well, here! You just take what you want out of our can. We've got milk if we haven't got butter. Try some of that dried fruit, too."

Having thanked his friends, David inquired if the trail was in good shape. He was thinking that before long he would be tramping back over it.

"Yes," answered Close, "most of it's good; but there's some bad bogs where the horses get mired. Those cattle herds have cut it all to pieces where the ground is soft. We haven't had much trouble, though."

"No," put in his companion, "when we get started we can go along well enough. The worst of this packing business is ketching the horses in the morning. The critters are as sly as foxes. They'll stand so still in the thickets when they hear you coming that you can go within ten feet of 'em and never know they're there."

"They keep pretty well together, though," said the other, "and the tracks are generally plain. Besides, there's a bell on one of them."

"If they were my horses," declared David, "I would bell them all."

"And it wouldn't be a bad idea," said Close, with a laugh.

By David's invitation the Wisconsin boys slept that night on the bedstead in the tent. They breakfasted early and then set out to round up their horses, which they accomplished in a couple of hours after a long tramp through the woods. Having loaded the animals, they bade David good-by and rode away toward the trail, presently shouting back, "Better call the dog; he's following the horses."

David whistled Shep back and ordered him to lie down. It was no wonder he thought every one his master, he had changed owners so often. He now lay down quietly enough on the ground before the cook-tent and appeared to have forgotten all about the pack train.

An hour later David finished his wood-chopping and suddenly noticed that Shep was gone. At first he thought little of the matter, supposing him to be somewhere in the neighborhood, but when another hour passed without him, he feared Shep had followed the horses, after all. He whistled again and again, but no dog came; and now he was perplexed to know what to do. By this time the pack train was six or eight miles away. The dog would overtake it easily, buthecould not hope to do so before it halted for the night; and he did not like to leave so long the property of which he was incharge. The Wisconsin boys might send the dog back, or, failing in that, they would doubtless deliver him up to the captain, whom they would probably see before many days. So, however much he regretted the loss of his only companion, he concluded to let the matter drop.

A little later, from the sand-ridge back of the tents, he perceived a column of white smoke above the trees near the river, a quarter of a mile to the southeast. It indicated the presence of either white men or Indians on the trail, and Shep might be with them. David lost no time in locking the cabin door and setting out rapidly in the direction of the smoke.

On his hunting excursions he had noticed an Indian canoe bottom-up near that spot, and naturally supposed that the dusky owners had now arrived. He found, however, that two white men had kindled a fire against a fallen tree for the purpose of cooking their midday meal. Their two horses were grazing near by. The strangers were men of middle age, with thick, grizzled beards and sunbrowned faces. They seemed surprised to see David, but greeted him pleasantly.

"Camping near here?" they asked.

"Yes," answered David, seating himself sociably; "at Champlain's Landing."

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed one of the men, "I saw the sign-board on the tree where your path turns off, but I didn't know any one was there."

"Have you come from Dawson?" asked David.

"Yes; we left there nine days ago."

"Any new strikes?"

"No, none recently; but the people keep swarming in over the other trails."

"What are they paying in wages?"

"Seven to ten dollars a day."

"I've heard it was very unhealthy there."

"Yes, there's a good deal of scurvy and pneumonia."

"Any starvation last winter?"

"No, but it was a tight squeeze for some of them."

"Does a man stand much chance of a fortune who goes there now?"

"Not if he expects to dig gold. The paying ground is all taken up and a good deal more. There's a better chance now in trading. In fact, that's what my partner and I are going into. We've discovered that some things are mighty scarce in Dawson, and people will pay almost anything for them, so we're going out to the coast to bring in a stock of goods. We shall try to be back before cold weather."

David had kept his eyes open for Shep, but seeing nothing of him, he asked if they had met two young fellows that morning and had noticed a black and white dog. The men remembered the pack train well enough, but neither had any recollection of seeing the dog. So David went back to the Landing more mystified than ever.

With Shep away, he felt instinctively that the wolf would pay him another visit; nor was he mistaken. That night he slept deeply and heard no sound, but when he arose and went out to the cook-tent, he rubbed his eyes in astonishment. Wolf-tracks were everywhere, dishes were scattered about, a five-pound piece of bacon had disappeared, and the butter can, which had stood in a pail of water on the top of the rude sideboard five feet above the ground now lay on the grass, where the wolf had ineffectually tried to get at the contents. Strange to say, the pail from which the can had been abstracted stood unmoved in its accustomed place.

David picked up the scattered utensils and smiled rather grimly to think how he had slept for two nights in the open, unprotected tent, exposed to this midnight prowler.

CHAPTER XXXVA LONG MARCH, WITH A SURPRISE AT THE END OF ITAs the time approached for David to be relieved from duty, he began to watch for the expected traveller and to conjecture as to who would be sent. Two weeks had passed since he had left the camp on Alder Creek. It was now near the end of July.About noon of the day following the departure of Shep and the midnight visit of the wolf, as he was cooking his dinner, he saw Davidson, a young Bostonian, swinging rapidly up the path. The two exchanged cordial greetings, and David immediately prepared to give his friend a hearty meal."How did you leave the people in the Shorty Creek district?" asked the young cook when the new-comer had removed his light pack and seated himself in one of Hovey's rustic chairs."Everybody was well when I left," answered Davidson, "except old Tom Moore, the recorder. He's down with scurvy, but I guess our doctor will fix him up. They've sent him a lot of dried fruit and vegetables, and that diet ought to help him. I don't believe he had eaten much but bacon for a month, and he hardlyever stirred out of his tent. It's no wonder the scurvy caught him.""I should think so," said David. And then he asked abruptly, "How long did it take you to get here, Davidson?""Two days and a half from Reitz's tent on Klukshu Lake," was the reply."That's quick time. You must be a good walker. I just wish my legs were as long as yours. How far do you think it is?""About sixty-five miles by the trail. You'd better allow three days if you carry anything.""I shall have about forty pounds," said David. "The men at Moran's gave me a list of things they wanted out of their clothing bags, and I sent all I could by the boat; but in the hurry I couldn't find everything. Is Reitz catching any salmon yet?""Oh, yes; plenty of them. Humphrey is with him now, and they're having all they can do."Next morning David gave his friend such directions regarding the cache as had been given to himself, and surrendered the key of the padlock on the cabin door. Then he cooked three days' rations of bacon, biscuits, and rice, to which he added some pieces of jerked beef which Davidson had brought and kindly offered him. Finally he made up his pack, and an hour before noon was ready to start on the long, solitary tramp. If hehad stopped to think much about it he might well have shrunk from so lonely a journey through the wilderness, for he was armed only with hunting-knife and hatchet, but the thought of getting back to his friends was uppermost and made him light-hearted; and, besides, if Davidson had made the journey, he was sure he could."Hold on!" exclaimed Davidson, suddenly, as he saw the lad taking up his pack. "I'm going with you a few miles. I'll carry the pack.""Oh, no indeed!" said David, whose pride was touched. It seemed almost effeminate to surrender his burden to one who had hardly yet rested after a long journey. "I'm perfectly fresh, and you must be tired. It's mighty kind of you, but I can't let you.""You don't feel the need of a lift now," said Davidson, kindly, "but you may at the other end of the day's march. And it's only at this end that I can help you.""But surely I can carry that load all day. It isn't heavy,—and it really belongs to me to take it.""Then I won't go with you, Dave."David instantly perceived that if he refused the generous offer of his friend he would hurt his feelings, and that he ought to yield. "Well, then," said he, "rather than lose your company, I accept your conditions, and please don't think me ungrateful."So Davidson fastened the pack upon his own shoulders, and having locked the cabin, the two set off downthe path to the trail, which they followed till they had covered about five miles and were near the entrance to the pass between Mount Bratnober and Mount Champlain. They now sat down beside a brook, and David proceeded to eat his dinner, which he insisted his companion should share. This Davidson was reluctant to do, since he knew the lad would have to calculate closely to make his food last. He was finally prevailed upon to accept a piece of bacon and half a biscuit, but would take no more."If I were you," said Davidson, "I should divide the journey into three parts as nearly equal as possible. From the Landing to Pennock's Post is about twenty-five miles. You'd better try to reach there to-night. Then it's twenty miles to the river that flows into Dasar-dee-ash from the east. You'll have to wade it, unless there's somebody there with a horse. I was lucky enough to find a pack train at the ford. The water won't come much above your waist.""H-m!" said David, laconically. "Ice-water, I suppose.""Very likely. Then on the third day you can make the remaining twenty miles to Reitz's camp, and go over to Moran's any time you like.""Thank you, Davidson," said his young friend. "That's just the way I'll plan to do it."They parted with mutual good-will, and David, withthe pack now on his own back, soon found himself traversing the recently burned district within the pass. The mighty cliff of Mount Champlain towered on his left, while across the river rose the hardly less stupendous crags of Mount Bratnober. On every side the country was bright with the purple fireweed, which had sprung up from the ashes as if by magic.There were scattered patches of forest which the great conflagration had spared, and in the midst of one of these David was suddenly aware of a crackling sound ahead. The next instant he caught a whiff of smoke and saw it rising in a dense cloud through the trees. A few steps more and he found himself in a shower of sparks which a sudden gust blew toward him. Forced to beat a precipitate retreat, he made a détour to the windward of the burning area, from which side he was able to make a closer examination.Plainly some careless traveller had allowed his camp-fire to get beyond his control, or else had neglected to extinguish it when he moved on. The flames had crept through the moss and communicated with several dry spruces, which were now blazing fiercely. It was utterly beyond David's power to check the spread of the flames, but he reflected that the whole country around had been burned over, and the fire could not extend past the limits of the oasis-like grove in which it had originated, so he continued on his journey.In an open stretch of meadow he came upon a white horse and a mule grazing contentedly. The animals raised their heads in mute inquiry, and then resumed their feeding. David looked about for the owners, but seeing no one, came to the conclusion that these were waifs from some pack train, and might now be appropriated by any one who could catch them. It was a great temptation to try. Riding was certainly an improvement on walking; and if he could not do that without a bridle, he could at least lead the horse with a bit of rope and make him carry his pack. On second thought, however, he abandoned the idea. Perhaps the animals were not lost. The owners might be somewhere in the neighborhood. If this were the case, and he were seen leading the horse away, he might be accused of horse-stealing,—a very serious charge on the trail. It was better to let them alone, and he plodded on.A little later he caught sight of a black animal among the trees ahead, and it must be confessed that a lonely, creepy sensation ran up his back at that moment. He loosened the hatchet in its leather case as he walked, but soon saw that the beast was not a bear, but a large black dog which, having even more respect for him than he had felt for it, turned out of the trail and gave him a wide berth. A few minutes afterward he met two men with a small pack train, and concluded that the dog wastheirs. The men nodded pleasantly as they passed; they were the only persons he saw on the trail that day.By mid-afternoon he found himself getting tired. A great many trees had fallen across the path, and the labor of stepping over them contributed materially to his fatigue. There were bogs, too, so cut up by the passage of horses and cattle that it was difficult for a pedestrian to cross without becoming stuck fast. Usually, however, a sapling had been cut down and laid over the ooze, and David crossed all but one of these rude bridges successfully.The one exception nearly cost him dear. He made a misstep, and his right foot slipped into the mud beside the log. The mud and water offered no support, and the sudden lurch having thrown the weight of his pack to that side, his foot sank deeper and deeper without reaching solid ground. By good fortune his other foot was still on the log, and, better still, there were stout bushes on the other side. These he grasped desperately as he sank, and by a violent effort restored his balance and drew himself back upon the log.In the early evening he waded Frying-Pan Creek and caught the first welcome glimpse of Pennock's Post. "Now," thought he, "I shall have a good night's rest in my own bunk,"—for he had brought no tent; so with a light heart in spite of his weariness, he turned toward the cabin.But he was doomed to disappointment. What was his astonishment at finding an enormous padlock and a heavy chain upon the door! And hardly had he touched the contrivance to determine whether it was locked, when there was an angry growl and the rattle of a chain within the building, and he knew by the sound that a fierce dog had sprung toward the door to oppose his entrance.If he had been surprised at seeing the padlock, it was nothing to the burning indignation which now possessed him. He passed around to the north window. Someone, probably an Indian, had loosened one of the wooden bars and torn a hole in the cheese-cloth in order to look into the interior. He took advantage of the rent to do likewise. In the southeast corner of the cabin he could see a great pile of goods. The dog, a huge and savage-looking beast, was chained to the corner post of Pennock's bunk, and there was a dish of water and another of meat on the floor. David was locked out of his own house, and it was garrisoned against him.

A LONG MARCH, WITH A SURPRISE AT THE END OF IT

As the time approached for David to be relieved from duty, he began to watch for the expected traveller and to conjecture as to who would be sent. Two weeks had passed since he had left the camp on Alder Creek. It was now near the end of July.

About noon of the day following the departure of Shep and the midnight visit of the wolf, as he was cooking his dinner, he saw Davidson, a young Bostonian, swinging rapidly up the path. The two exchanged cordial greetings, and David immediately prepared to give his friend a hearty meal.

"How did you leave the people in the Shorty Creek district?" asked the young cook when the new-comer had removed his light pack and seated himself in one of Hovey's rustic chairs.

"Everybody was well when I left," answered Davidson, "except old Tom Moore, the recorder. He's down with scurvy, but I guess our doctor will fix him up. They've sent him a lot of dried fruit and vegetables, and that diet ought to help him. I don't believe he had eaten much but bacon for a month, and he hardlyever stirred out of his tent. It's no wonder the scurvy caught him."

"I should think so," said David. And then he asked abruptly, "How long did it take you to get here, Davidson?"

"Two days and a half from Reitz's tent on Klukshu Lake," was the reply.

"That's quick time. You must be a good walker. I just wish my legs were as long as yours. How far do you think it is?"

"About sixty-five miles by the trail. You'd better allow three days if you carry anything."

"I shall have about forty pounds," said David. "The men at Moran's gave me a list of things they wanted out of their clothing bags, and I sent all I could by the boat; but in the hurry I couldn't find everything. Is Reitz catching any salmon yet?"

"Oh, yes; plenty of them. Humphrey is with him now, and they're having all they can do."

Next morning David gave his friend such directions regarding the cache as had been given to himself, and surrendered the key of the padlock on the cabin door. Then he cooked three days' rations of bacon, biscuits, and rice, to which he added some pieces of jerked beef which Davidson had brought and kindly offered him. Finally he made up his pack, and an hour before noon was ready to start on the long, solitary tramp. If hehad stopped to think much about it he might well have shrunk from so lonely a journey through the wilderness, for he was armed only with hunting-knife and hatchet, but the thought of getting back to his friends was uppermost and made him light-hearted; and, besides, if Davidson had made the journey, he was sure he could.

"Hold on!" exclaimed Davidson, suddenly, as he saw the lad taking up his pack. "I'm going with you a few miles. I'll carry the pack."

"Oh, no indeed!" said David, whose pride was touched. It seemed almost effeminate to surrender his burden to one who had hardly yet rested after a long journey. "I'm perfectly fresh, and you must be tired. It's mighty kind of you, but I can't let you."

"You don't feel the need of a lift now," said Davidson, kindly, "but you may at the other end of the day's march. And it's only at this end that I can help you."

"But surely I can carry that load all day. It isn't heavy,—and it really belongs to me to take it."

"Then I won't go with you, Dave."

David instantly perceived that if he refused the generous offer of his friend he would hurt his feelings, and that he ought to yield. "Well, then," said he, "rather than lose your company, I accept your conditions, and please don't think me ungrateful."

So Davidson fastened the pack upon his own shoulders, and having locked the cabin, the two set off downthe path to the trail, which they followed till they had covered about five miles and were near the entrance to the pass between Mount Bratnober and Mount Champlain. They now sat down beside a brook, and David proceeded to eat his dinner, which he insisted his companion should share. This Davidson was reluctant to do, since he knew the lad would have to calculate closely to make his food last. He was finally prevailed upon to accept a piece of bacon and half a biscuit, but would take no more.

"If I were you," said Davidson, "I should divide the journey into three parts as nearly equal as possible. From the Landing to Pennock's Post is about twenty-five miles. You'd better try to reach there to-night. Then it's twenty miles to the river that flows into Dasar-dee-ash from the east. You'll have to wade it, unless there's somebody there with a horse. I was lucky enough to find a pack train at the ford. The water won't come much above your waist."

"H-m!" said David, laconically. "Ice-water, I suppose."

"Very likely. Then on the third day you can make the remaining twenty miles to Reitz's camp, and go over to Moran's any time you like."

"Thank you, Davidson," said his young friend. "That's just the way I'll plan to do it."

They parted with mutual good-will, and David, withthe pack now on his own back, soon found himself traversing the recently burned district within the pass. The mighty cliff of Mount Champlain towered on his left, while across the river rose the hardly less stupendous crags of Mount Bratnober. On every side the country was bright with the purple fireweed, which had sprung up from the ashes as if by magic.

There were scattered patches of forest which the great conflagration had spared, and in the midst of one of these David was suddenly aware of a crackling sound ahead. The next instant he caught a whiff of smoke and saw it rising in a dense cloud through the trees. A few steps more and he found himself in a shower of sparks which a sudden gust blew toward him. Forced to beat a precipitate retreat, he made a détour to the windward of the burning area, from which side he was able to make a closer examination.

Plainly some careless traveller had allowed his camp-fire to get beyond his control, or else had neglected to extinguish it when he moved on. The flames had crept through the moss and communicated with several dry spruces, which were now blazing fiercely. It was utterly beyond David's power to check the spread of the flames, but he reflected that the whole country around had been burned over, and the fire could not extend past the limits of the oasis-like grove in which it had originated, so he continued on his journey.

In an open stretch of meadow he came upon a white horse and a mule grazing contentedly. The animals raised their heads in mute inquiry, and then resumed their feeding. David looked about for the owners, but seeing no one, came to the conclusion that these were waifs from some pack train, and might now be appropriated by any one who could catch them. It was a great temptation to try. Riding was certainly an improvement on walking; and if he could not do that without a bridle, he could at least lead the horse with a bit of rope and make him carry his pack. On second thought, however, he abandoned the idea. Perhaps the animals were not lost. The owners might be somewhere in the neighborhood. If this were the case, and he were seen leading the horse away, he might be accused of horse-stealing,—a very serious charge on the trail. It was better to let them alone, and he plodded on.

A little later he caught sight of a black animal among the trees ahead, and it must be confessed that a lonely, creepy sensation ran up his back at that moment. He loosened the hatchet in its leather case as he walked, but soon saw that the beast was not a bear, but a large black dog which, having even more respect for him than he had felt for it, turned out of the trail and gave him a wide berth. A few minutes afterward he met two men with a small pack train, and concluded that the dog wastheirs. The men nodded pleasantly as they passed; they were the only persons he saw on the trail that day.

By mid-afternoon he found himself getting tired. A great many trees had fallen across the path, and the labor of stepping over them contributed materially to his fatigue. There were bogs, too, so cut up by the passage of horses and cattle that it was difficult for a pedestrian to cross without becoming stuck fast. Usually, however, a sapling had been cut down and laid over the ooze, and David crossed all but one of these rude bridges successfully.

The one exception nearly cost him dear. He made a misstep, and his right foot slipped into the mud beside the log. The mud and water offered no support, and the sudden lurch having thrown the weight of his pack to that side, his foot sank deeper and deeper without reaching solid ground. By good fortune his other foot was still on the log, and, better still, there were stout bushes on the other side. These he grasped desperately as he sank, and by a violent effort restored his balance and drew himself back upon the log.

In the early evening he waded Frying-Pan Creek and caught the first welcome glimpse of Pennock's Post. "Now," thought he, "I shall have a good night's rest in my own bunk,"—for he had brought no tent; so with a light heart in spite of his weariness, he turned toward the cabin.

But he was doomed to disappointment. What was his astonishment at finding an enormous padlock and a heavy chain upon the door! And hardly had he touched the contrivance to determine whether it was locked, when there was an angry growl and the rattle of a chain within the building, and he knew by the sound that a fierce dog had sprung toward the door to oppose his entrance.

If he had been surprised at seeing the padlock, it was nothing to the burning indignation which now possessed him. He passed around to the north window. Someone, probably an Indian, had loosened one of the wooden bars and torn a hole in the cheese-cloth in order to look into the interior. He took advantage of the rent to do likewise. In the southeast corner of the cabin he could see a great pile of goods. The dog, a huge and savage-looking beast, was chained to the corner post of Pennock's bunk, and there was a dish of water and another of meat on the floor. David was locked out of his own house, and it was garrisoned against him.

CHAPTER XXXVIHOW DAVID MET THE OFFENDER AND WAS PREVENTED FROM SPEAKING HIS MINDHaving satisfied himself that the owner of the cache was not about, David threw off his pack, and sat down upon it with his back against the log wall to consider what he would do; and the more he thought about it, the more his anger rose.It was the custom on the trail to cache provisions anywhere. Both Indians and white men respected the unwritten law which held the theft of food in such a region to be worthy of death. No one but a starving man or a desperado would violate that law, and there were few such. Indeed, David had never seen any indication that this chance of loss was being reckoned with. But here was a man who apparently distrusted all his fellow-men,—who suspected every traveller on the trail,—who not only confiscated a cabin for the storage of his goods, but took contemptible measures to protect his property. David felt instinctively that he had to deal with as mean, sour, and selfish a person as it had ever been his lot to meet, and had not the slightest doubt that the character of the master, as is often the case, could be accuratelysurmised from the temper of his dog. The latter still growled and barked viciously at every sound.At last he rose and went to the rear of the cabin, thinking to enter by way of the fireplace. He knew he could easily loosen and remove two or three of the stakes which had surrounded the stove, and once inside the cabin, he could sleep in his own bunk, which was situated diagonally opposite the corner where the dog was chained. But no sooner had he begun to carry out this plan than the savage animal became furious, and it was perfectly evident that he would have no rest in the company of such a brute."If I only had my rifle," he groaned.It is entirely safe to say that with it he would have made an end of the animal without a moment's hesitation, flung its body into the creek, and taken possession of the cabin, which his own hands had helped to build. To be sure, he might kill the dog with the hatchet, but such butchery was repugnant to him, and he quickly dismissed the idea. On the whole, it would be best, he decided, to spend the night under the open sky, where there would be no distractions other than the wind in the trees and the continual singing of the mosquitoes. So he picked up his pack, trudged off into the grove of spruces to the south, and selected a dry, level, sandy spot near the edge of the bluff which fronted the river. Here he ate a frugal supper, then spread his blankets on theground, and so passed the night, though the assiduous musical insects which swarmed upon his head-net robbed him of nearly all sleep. After an early breakfast, he resumed his march, fully resolved, in the event of their meeting, to tell the owner of the cache exactly what he thought of him.This part of the trail was familiar, and he walked briskly, only pausing at the foot of the first small lake to catch two or three grayling, with which to eke out his scanty rations. These he roasted before a fire at noon, and, rudely cooked as they were, they proved very palatable, accompanied by small berries of a bluish color and black moss-berries, which grew there in abundance.He had passed the point where in May the Bradfords had left the main trail to turn toward the lake, when he descried a pack train approaching across an open meadow. As the caravan came nearer, David was convinced that he saw before him the owner of the cache and the canine. At the head of the procession leaped five or six dogs of fierce aspect. Following them came a round-shouldered old Irishman, riding on a big gray mule, and behind him was a string of mules loaded with sacks and boxes.The dogs set off toward David with a rush, as soon as they saw him, and it was all their master could do to check them. As it was, David made sure that his hatchet was free before he encountered the pack, and even had he brought that weapon into play, he would have beenoverwhelmed in a twinkling had not the dogs been in evident fear of the old man. Having jumped about David noisily, but without offering violence, they passed on in obedience to a gruff command. The rider of the mule now drew up and eyed David in silence a moment."Where'd ye come from?" he asked, in a rather impertinent tone, as David thought."Champlain's Landing," said David, shortly. He was not in a mood to be trifled with."How far may it be to Pennock's Post?" asked the stranger, still eying him suspiciously."All of fifteen miles," said David."Fifteen miles!" exclaimed the man, in anything but a pleasant voice. "I wouldn't have said 'twas that far,—an' it's there I must be to-night." Suddenly he glared again at David. "An' where'd ye stay last night?""At Pennock's Post," said David."Stayed at Pennock's, did ye?" snarled the old fellow. "Didn't ye find something there, hey?"This was just what David had been waiting for. Another moment, and he would have uncorked the explosive phials of wrath, but hearing a light footstep he turned, and the next instant, without a single angry word, set his lips hard.It was neither fear nor irresolution which occasioned this remarkable change on David's part, but a delicate,chivalrous sense of the consideration a man always owes to the gentler sex. On turning his head, he became aware, for the first time, of the presence of a woman.She was slender, gray-haired, and gentle-faced. She was neatly dressed in black, and had been walking behind the pack train. It flashed through David's mind instantly that this was the old man's wife, and he was conscious of a feeling of pity. Furthermore, she was the first white woman he had seen for many months. It was a delight just to look at her. Quarrel in her presence he could not, nor add one jot to the burden which he felt sure she must bear as the consort of such a man.It was the sight of this elderly woman which had sealed his lips, and now, to the astonishment of her husband, David turned and walked away without a reply. The woman spoke to him kindly as he passed, and he touched his cap respectfully. Hardly had he cleared the pack train before he heard the old man belaboring the mule on which he rode, and swearing roundly at the other animals. He wondered if the poor wife would have to walk those fifteen long miles while her husband rode.Not long afterward he met a second section of the train, in charge of a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, who evidently preferred not to overtake his employer.David pressed on with all possible speed, but since noon his left foot had been giving him pain, and he now became more crippled with every step. Whether it wasrheumatism or a bruise or strain he did not know, but by the time he reached the river he was ready to drop.To his delight, a large tent on the hither bank indicated the presence of some one at the ford, and he had no doubt he could cross dry-shod on the morrow. On reaching this tent he was surprised to find no one within, but, confident that the owner was near, he threw off his pack with a sigh of relief, and stretched himself wearily on a pile of canvas coverings.An hour or more had dragged by when David saw a slender young man, with a bushy brown beard, leading a bony horse toward the opposite bank of the river. He mounted at the ford, and, having crossed, took off the saddle and turned the steed loose."How are you?" said the stranger cordially, as he noticed David. "Been here long?""About an hour," answered David. "I thought you wouldn't mind my resting here.""Not at all. Make yourself at home. Didn't see anything of a stray mule round here, did you? I've been hunting that mule all the afternoon, but I can't find the critter.""No, I didn't see it.""I s'pose you met the old man? He owns this outfit here.""Oh, ho!" exclaimed David. "Is that so?" A sudden light came into his eyes, and traces of a smile appearedat the corners of his mouth. "What sort of a man is he?" he asked."Well," replied Smith,—he had informed David that such was his name, and Yonkers, New York, his home,—"he's different from any Irishman I ever saw. Hasn't any more sense of humor than a cow, and he's the worst-tempered man in this whole country. Look at that sick horse and you'll see how he treats his animals, and he don't treat his wife and us men much better. He's going to winter on a claim of his near Dawson, and wants me to work for him up there, but I don't know about it. I'd never have started with him if I'd known him. He hasn't paid me a cent of wages yet, and I don't believe he intends to."David saw that he had a friend and sympathizer in Smith."I'll tell you what I'm going to do," said he, "provided you're willing. I'm going to sleep in the tent to-night. If a man ever owed me a night's lodging, he's the man." And David told how he had been locked out of his own house, and cheated out of his rest."Well, well!" exclaimed Smith, when he heard the tale. "I just wish you could have put some lead into that dog. You'd have been perfectly justified. I guess you're entitled to rather more than a night's lodging. If the miserly old fellow had left me anything to eat, I'd see that you had a good supper and breakfast, but hetook every scrap of bacon with him, and I've only flour and coffee to live on till he gets back.""I've a pretty good chunk of bacon, but no flour," said David. "We'd better join forces. I'll contribute the bacon if you'll make some flapjacks."Smith gladly assented, so it was not long before David was eating a supper partly at his own, but largely also at the disagreeable packer's expense. Doubtless because it is human nature to enjoy levying a just tax on a mean man, he swallowed those flapjacks and drank that coffee with peculiar zest.The meal was no sooner finished than Smith caught sight of the truant mule on a distant hillside and set off to capture it, while David spread his blankets within the tent and presently turned in. He slept soundly till broad daylight, when he awoke with a start and found a fat ground-squirrel sitting comfortably on his breast, and eying him complacently. It ran out as soon as he stirred, and then amused itself by running up the roof of the tent on one side, and sliding down the other. Altogether it was the most lively ground-squirrel he had seen.This day was Sunday, and aside from the principle of the thing, David would have liked to rest on account of his lameness, but circumstances were against him. It was clearly necessary that he should make an exception to the usual rule of the Bradfords, and travel throughoutthis Sabbath. Smith's stock of food was running as low as his own. Breakfast over, he himself had only a piece of jerked beef and two biscuits for a luncheon. His only course was to proceed.Smith caught and saddled the poor horse, which had been a fine animal, but was now so weak with overwork, starvation, and sickness that it could hardly stand. David mounted with misgivings as to whether the tottering beast had strength to carry him, but they crossed the ford in safety. Dismounting on the farther bank, he turned the horse back into the water, and headed him for the point where Smith was standing; then shouting his thanks and a good-by, he limped off along the trail.Twenty miles on a foot which could scarcely bear the touch of the ground! He set his teeth hard and plodded on until the pain compelled him to sit down for a brief rest. Every mile was earned with suffering. All day long the struggle continued, and it required all the grit he possessed to keep him going. Not a person did he see, though he caught sight of several horses grazing, and heard distant shouts of men who were probably searching for them. At seven in the evening he threw himself into Reitz's camp utterly spent.

HOW DAVID MET THE OFFENDER AND WAS PREVENTED FROM SPEAKING HIS MIND

Having satisfied himself that the owner of the cache was not about, David threw off his pack, and sat down upon it with his back against the log wall to consider what he would do; and the more he thought about it, the more his anger rose.

It was the custom on the trail to cache provisions anywhere. Both Indians and white men respected the unwritten law which held the theft of food in such a region to be worthy of death. No one but a starving man or a desperado would violate that law, and there were few such. Indeed, David had never seen any indication that this chance of loss was being reckoned with. But here was a man who apparently distrusted all his fellow-men,—who suspected every traveller on the trail,—who not only confiscated a cabin for the storage of his goods, but took contemptible measures to protect his property. David felt instinctively that he had to deal with as mean, sour, and selfish a person as it had ever been his lot to meet, and had not the slightest doubt that the character of the master, as is often the case, could be accuratelysurmised from the temper of his dog. The latter still growled and barked viciously at every sound.

At last he rose and went to the rear of the cabin, thinking to enter by way of the fireplace. He knew he could easily loosen and remove two or three of the stakes which had surrounded the stove, and once inside the cabin, he could sleep in his own bunk, which was situated diagonally opposite the corner where the dog was chained. But no sooner had he begun to carry out this plan than the savage animal became furious, and it was perfectly evident that he would have no rest in the company of such a brute.

"If I only had my rifle," he groaned.

It is entirely safe to say that with it he would have made an end of the animal without a moment's hesitation, flung its body into the creek, and taken possession of the cabin, which his own hands had helped to build. To be sure, he might kill the dog with the hatchet, but such butchery was repugnant to him, and he quickly dismissed the idea. On the whole, it would be best, he decided, to spend the night under the open sky, where there would be no distractions other than the wind in the trees and the continual singing of the mosquitoes. So he picked up his pack, trudged off into the grove of spruces to the south, and selected a dry, level, sandy spot near the edge of the bluff which fronted the river. Here he ate a frugal supper, then spread his blankets on theground, and so passed the night, though the assiduous musical insects which swarmed upon his head-net robbed him of nearly all sleep. After an early breakfast, he resumed his march, fully resolved, in the event of their meeting, to tell the owner of the cache exactly what he thought of him.

This part of the trail was familiar, and he walked briskly, only pausing at the foot of the first small lake to catch two or three grayling, with which to eke out his scanty rations. These he roasted before a fire at noon, and, rudely cooked as they were, they proved very palatable, accompanied by small berries of a bluish color and black moss-berries, which grew there in abundance.

He had passed the point where in May the Bradfords had left the main trail to turn toward the lake, when he descried a pack train approaching across an open meadow. As the caravan came nearer, David was convinced that he saw before him the owner of the cache and the canine. At the head of the procession leaped five or six dogs of fierce aspect. Following them came a round-shouldered old Irishman, riding on a big gray mule, and behind him was a string of mules loaded with sacks and boxes.

The dogs set off toward David with a rush, as soon as they saw him, and it was all their master could do to check them. As it was, David made sure that his hatchet was free before he encountered the pack, and even had he brought that weapon into play, he would have beenoverwhelmed in a twinkling had not the dogs been in evident fear of the old man. Having jumped about David noisily, but without offering violence, they passed on in obedience to a gruff command. The rider of the mule now drew up and eyed David in silence a moment.

"Where'd ye come from?" he asked, in a rather impertinent tone, as David thought.

"Champlain's Landing," said David, shortly. He was not in a mood to be trifled with.

"How far may it be to Pennock's Post?" asked the stranger, still eying him suspiciously.

"All of fifteen miles," said David.

"Fifteen miles!" exclaimed the man, in anything but a pleasant voice. "I wouldn't have said 'twas that far,—an' it's there I must be to-night." Suddenly he glared again at David. "An' where'd ye stay last night?"

"At Pennock's Post," said David.

"Stayed at Pennock's, did ye?" snarled the old fellow. "Didn't ye find something there, hey?"

This was just what David had been waiting for. Another moment, and he would have uncorked the explosive phials of wrath, but hearing a light footstep he turned, and the next instant, without a single angry word, set his lips hard.

It was neither fear nor irresolution which occasioned this remarkable change on David's part, but a delicate,chivalrous sense of the consideration a man always owes to the gentler sex. On turning his head, he became aware, for the first time, of the presence of a woman.

She was slender, gray-haired, and gentle-faced. She was neatly dressed in black, and had been walking behind the pack train. It flashed through David's mind instantly that this was the old man's wife, and he was conscious of a feeling of pity. Furthermore, she was the first white woman he had seen for many months. It was a delight just to look at her. Quarrel in her presence he could not, nor add one jot to the burden which he felt sure she must bear as the consort of such a man.

It was the sight of this elderly woman which had sealed his lips, and now, to the astonishment of her husband, David turned and walked away without a reply. The woman spoke to him kindly as he passed, and he touched his cap respectfully. Hardly had he cleared the pack train before he heard the old man belaboring the mule on which he rode, and swearing roundly at the other animals. He wondered if the poor wife would have to walk those fifteen long miles while her husband rode.

Not long afterward he met a second section of the train, in charge of a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, who evidently preferred not to overtake his employer.

David pressed on with all possible speed, but since noon his left foot had been giving him pain, and he now became more crippled with every step. Whether it wasrheumatism or a bruise or strain he did not know, but by the time he reached the river he was ready to drop.

To his delight, a large tent on the hither bank indicated the presence of some one at the ford, and he had no doubt he could cross dry-shod on the morrow. On reaching this tent he was surprised to find no one within, but, confident that the owner was near, he threw off his pack with a sigh of relief, and stretched himself wearily on a pile of canvas coverings.

An hour or more had dragged by when David saw a slender young man, with a bushy brown beard, leading a bony horse toward the opposite bank of the river. He mounted at the ford, and, having crossed, took off the saddle and turned the steed loose.

"How are you?" said the stranger cordially, as he noticed David. "Been here long?"

"About an hour," answered David. "I thought you wouldn't mind my resting here."

"Not at all. Make yourself at home. Didn't see anything of a stray mule round here, did you? I've been hunting that mule all the afternoon, but I can't find the critter."

"No, I didn't see it."

"I s'pose you met the old man? He owns this outfit here."

"Oh, ho!" exclaimed David. "Is that so?" A sudden light came into his eyes, and traces of a smile appearedat the corners of his mouth. "What sort of a man is he?" he asked.

"Well," replied Smith,—he had informed David that such was his name, and Yonkers, New York, his home,—"he's different from any Irishman I ever saw. Hasn't any more sense of humor than a cow, and he's the worst-tempered man in this whole country. Look at that sick horse and you'll see how he treats his animals, and he don't treat his wife and us men much better. He's going to winter on a claim of his near Dawson, and wants me to work for him up there, but I don't know about it. I'd never have started with him if I'd known him. He hasn't paid me a cent of wages yet, and I don't believe he intends to."

David saw that he had a friend and sympathizer in Smith.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," said he, "provided you're willing. I'm going to sleep in the tent to-night. If a man ever owed me a night's lodging, he's the man." And David told how he had been locked out of his own house, and cheated out of his rest.

"Well, well!" exclaimed Smith, when he heard the tale. "I just wish you could have put some lead into that dog. You'd have been perfectly justified. I guess you're entitled to rather more than a night's lodging. If the miserly old fellow had left me anything to eat, I'd see that you had a good supper and breakfast, but hetook every scrap of bacon with him, and I've only flour and coffee to live on till he gets back."

"I've a pretty good chunk of bacon, but no flour," said David. "We'd better join forces. I'll contribute the bacon if you'll make some flapjacks."

Smith gladly assented, so it was not long before David was eating a supper partly at his own, but largely also at the disagreeable packer's expense. Doubtless because it is human nature to enjoy levying a just tax on a mean man, he swallowed those flapjacks and drank that coffee with peculiar zest.

The meal was no sooner finished than Smith caught sight of the truant mule on a distant hillside and set off to capture it, while David spread his blankets within the tent and presently turned in. He slept soundly till broad daylight, when he awoke with a start and found a fat ground-squirrel sitting comfortably on his breast, and eying him complacently. It ran out as soon as he stirred, and then amused itself by running up the roof of the tent on one side, and sliding down the other. Altogether it was the most lively ground-squirrel he had seen.

This day was Sunday, and aside from the principle of the thing, David would have liked to rest on account of his lameness, but circumstances were against him. It was clearly necessary that he should make an exception to the usual rule of the Bradfords, and travel throughoutthis Sabbath. Smith's stock of food was running as low as his own. Breakfast over, he himself had only a piece of jerked beef and two biscuits for a luncheon. His only course was to proceed.

Smith caught and saddled the poor horse, which had been a fine animal, but was now so weak with overwork, starvation, and sickness that it could hardly stand. David mounted with misgivings as to whether the tottering beast had strength to carry him, but they crossed the ford in safety. Dismounting on the farther bank, he turned the horse back into the water, and headed him for the point where Smith was standing; then shouting his thanks and a good-by, he limped off along the trail.

Twenty miles on a foot which could scarcely bear the touch of the ground! He set his teeth hard and plodded on until the pain compelled him to sit down for a brief rest. Every mile was earned with suffering. All day long the struggle continued, and it required all the grit he possessed to keep him going. Not a person did he see, though he caught sight of several horses grazing, and heard distant shouts of men who were probably searching for them. At seven in the evening he threw himself into Reitz's camp utterly spent.

CHAPTER XXXVIIHOMEWARD BOUNDThe condition of David's foot obliged him to remain two days at the fishing-camp with Reitz and Humphrey, who feasted him royally on fresh-caught salmon.Under the teaching of Reitz he soon acquired the knack of using the long gaff, tipped with an iron hook, with which the fish were caught. Standing on the bank beside one of the deeper pools of the Klukshu River, which here was little more than a brook, he would poke about the bottom with the gaff until it struck against a salmon, when by a quick and dexterous jerk the fish would be hooked and drawn up out of the water. Often the salmon were so heavy that they had to be dragged out rather than lifted, for fear of breaking the pole.The finest variety was the king salmon, very large and with flesh of a deep pink tint. Then there was a smaller kind whose flesh was red. Not infrequently a fish was caught which, in its long journey from the sea, had been bruised and gashed on the sharp rocks. Such were unfit for food, but the healthy salmon weresplit and dressed and hung upon a frame of poles to dry, a smoky fire being built underneath to promote the curing and keep the flies from laying their eggs in the meat.The Stik Indians across the stream caught the salmon not only with the gaff, but also by a weir of poles which they constructed in the brook. In this trap hundreds were ensnared, and the natives were able to take a sufficient number to supply them with food throughout the winter and spring. One of the Indian women in this family was noticeable for a spike of wood or bone set in the flesh of her chin by way of ornament.On the third day David proceeded to Moran's Camp, accompanied by Humphrey, who carried a load of fresh salmon. Almost the first question asked of him there was, "Where are Hovey and Herrick?""Why," replied David, in astonishment, "I supposed they were here long ago. It's a little over two weeks since they left Champlain's Landing in the boat."This intelligence caused a flutter of alarm in the camp of the Thirty-six, and a searching party would undoubtedly have been despatched on the following day had not the missing men turned up that evening, weather-browned and hungry, with a remarkable tale of obstacles encountered and overcome. They had been several days in forcing their heavy boat up the river to the lake, and there they had met with such continuoushead-winds and rough water that progress had been difficult and dangerous,—often, indeed, impossible. They had camped for days upon the shore with little to eat, waiting for a chance to proceed, and were almost despairing when the wind providentially changed."Hurrah!" shouted Roly, when David appeared on Alder Creek. "You're just in time, Dave. Now we can go out with the next pack train."David failed to grasp his enthusiastic brother's meaning until later, for he was immediately surrounded and made to sit down and relate all his adventures up to that moment. This done, he begged Roly for an explanation of his remark about going out."Why," said Roly, delightedly, "we're all ready to start for home. Father or Uncle Will can tell you more about the reasons." The boy seemed as eager to go out of the country as he had once been to come into it."Yes," said Mr. Bradford, corroboratively, "the leader of the Thirty-six wished to control the whole of the river and its tributary creeks, and instructed Mr. Scott, his second in command, to make us an offer for our claims. We thought the offer a fair one, and as we can not well winter here nor look after our claims another season, we have accepted his price.""Good!" said David. "I'm glad to hear it."Uncle Will added that they had made arrangementsto accompany the next pack train of the Thirty-six when it returned to the coast."Do you mean that we shall ride out on horses?" asked David, incredulously. The thought of such luxurious travelling after his recent hardships surpassed his wildest dreams."No," answered his uncle. "The horses will carry our loads, but it isn't likely we shall ride except in fording the rivers. I understand it's extremely perilous to try to cross the Alsek, the Klaheena, and the Salmon rivers without horses, and several men have been drowned this season in the attempt. Even horses are sometimes swept away. You must know that in summer these streams, fed by the melting ice and snow in the mountains, become swift, muddy torrents of far greater depth and force than in the winter. Streams which a boy could wade last March would now give an elephant a tussle. It's most fortunate that we can have the use of the pack train."Two days later, on the fifth of August, word came that the horses had arrived at Moran's and would leave there the following evening on their return. Several of the animals were brought up to Alder Creek and loaded with the goods of the Bradfords, who of course had very little to carry out, compared with what they had brought in, since their provisions were nearly exhausted and they were to leave their tools and surplus goodsof all kinds with the Thirty-six. Lucky and Coffee Jack were also to be left behind in the employment of the larger party.On their way down the river the Bradfords paused at the tent of the scurvy-stricken Tom Moore to leave him some delicacies and wish him a speedy recovery. Here also they exchanged farewells with King and Baldwin.Not far above Moran's Camp David discovered a gray boulder thickly studded with fossil trilobites, which he would have liked to present to the museum at home, but its great weight made its removal impossible.Having taken leave of the Thirty-six, and of Lucky and Coffee Jack, who had served them so long and faithfully, the Bradfords followed the horses to the valley below, where they were to spend the night.The pack train was in charge of a tall, lean, brown-whiskered man known as Bud Beagle, and two assistant packers, one of whom, a big, thick-set, good-natured Missourian, went by the name of Phil. The other, a gray-haired man named Joyce, had once kept a bookstore in one of the Eastern States, and now, after a life of varied fortunes, found himself a packer and cook on the Dalton trail.Phil made an important find soon after the camping-place was reached. He came upon some bushes loaded with ripe red currants not far below the mouth of thegorge, and, having gathered a heaping panful, brought them to Joyce, who gladly set about making some currant preserve in the most approved style. He boiled the currants over a hot fire, added an extravagant amount of sugar, and at length produced the most delicious mixture imaginable.As the night was fair, no tents were pitched. The blankets were spread on the grass under the open sky, and the party would have spent a comfortable night had not the weather turned frosty. So cold was it that a skim of ice formed in a pail of water which was left uncovered."Gentlemen," said Bud, addressing the elder Bradfords at breakfast, "if you take my advice, you'll start right away as soon as you've finished. It'll take us an hour or two to round up and load the horses, but there's no need for you to wait. It's close on to thirty mile to Dalton's, and it would be late afore you got there if you was to start right now."Accordingly, the Bradfords were on the march before eight o'clock. They paused for a salmon dinner at Reitz's camp, where the pack train overtook and passed them, then plodded on again. It was the longest day's march in their experience, and without special incident save the meeting with a large herd of cattle and a flock of sheep bound for Dawson.Near the trading-post a party of mounted police werebuilding a cabin. They hospitably invited the tired four in to supper, treating them to roast mutton, for which the recently passing flock had evidently been laid under contribution. During the meal Mr. Bratnober strolled in and entertained them with an account of a long journey to the headwaters of White River, from which he had just returned. He had been accompanied by Jack Dalton and a tall native called Indian Jack. Their object had been to find copper, and they had been successful. Mr. Bratnober exhibited several rough slabs of the pure metal as big as a man's hand, and said that he had brought back about thirty pounds of it, and could have picked up tons if there had been means to carry it. He naturally would not tell the exact locality where these riches were discovered, but said it was in a region never before explored by white men. They had not remained in the copper district as long as they had wished to do, because of a band of Indians, armed only with bows and arrows, who had made hostile demonstrations.From the police the Bradfords learned that Dalton's store had been robbed of several thousand dollars a few days before, while Ike Martin was temporarily absent, and that about the same time two prospectors had been held up by highwaymen on the trail and relieved of considerable gold dust. Search was being made for the robbers, who were supposed to be twotough-looking characters who had been seen around the premises, and Ike Martin had started for Pyramid Harbor to put the authorities there on the watch. Ike, imprudently, as the police thought, had taken quite a sum of his own money with him, which he purposed to send to a Seattle bank."Have you any idea who the robbers are?" asked Uncle Will of the police captain."Yes," replied that officer; "we think they are two of 'Soapy' Smith's gang. The suspicious characters seen here answered the description of two of 'Soapy's' men.""And who is 'Soapy' Smith?" asked Mr. Bradford, who had heard the name, but could not recall in what connection."Why," explained the officer, "he's that chap who organized a gang of toughs at Skagway last winter and terrorized the place. Finally he insulted the wrong man, and received a quieting dose of lead; after which the citizens drove his followers out of town, and they scattered over the various trails."Uncle Will said nothing, but the boys noticed that he puffed with unwonted vigor on his pipe and seemed to be thinking deeply. He was, indeed, thinking that it would be a serious matter to encounter those two desperadoes in a lonely part of the trail.

HOMEWARD BOUND

The condition of David's foot obliged him to remain two days at the fishing-camp with Reitz and Humphrey, who feasted him royally on fresh-caught salmon.

Under the teaching of Reitz he soon acquired the knack of using the long gaff, tipped with an iron hook, with which the fish were caught. Standing on the bank beside one of the deeper pools of the Klukshu River, which here was little more than a brook, he would poke about the bottom with the gaff until it struck against a salmon, when by a quick and dexterous jerk the fish would be hooked and drawn up out of the water. Often the salmon were so heavy that they had to be dragged out rather than lifted, for fear of breaking the pole.

The finest variety was the king salmon, very large and with flesh of a deep pink tint. Then there was a smaller kind whose flesh was red. Not infrequently a fish was caught which, in its long journey from the sea, had been bruised and gashed on the sharp rocks. Such were unfit for food, but the healthy salmon weresplit and dressed and hung upon a frame of poles to dry, a smoky fire being built underneath to promote the curing and keep the flies from laying their eggs in the meat.

The Stik Indians across the stream caught the salmon not only with the gaff, but also by a weir of poles which they constructed in the brook. In this trap hundreds were ensnared, and the natives were able to take a sufficient number to supply them with food throughout the winter and spring. One of the Indian women in this family was noticeable for a spike of wood or bone set in the flesh of her chin by way of ornament.

On the third day David proceeded to Moran's Camp, accompanied by Humphrey, who carried a load of fresh salmon. Almost the first question asked of him there was, "Where are Hovey and Herrick?"

"Why," replied David, in astonishment, "I supposed they were here long ago. It's a little over two weeks since they left Champlain's Landing in the boat."

This intelligence caused a flutter of alarm in the camp of the Thirty-six, and a searching party would undoubtedly have been despatched on the following day had not the missing men turned up that evening, weather-browned and hungry, with a remarkable tale of obstacles encountered and overcome. They had been several days in forcing their heavy boat up the river to the lake, and there they had met with such continuoushead-winds and rough water that progress had been difficult and dangerous,—often, indeed, impossible. They had camped for days upon the shore with little to eat, waiting for a chance to proceed, and were almost despairing when the wind providentially changed.

"Hurrah!" shouted Roly, when David appeared on Alder Creek. "You're just in time, Dave. Now we can go out with the next pack train."

David failed to grasp his enthusiastic brother's meaning until later, for he was immediately surrounded and made to sit down and relate all his adventures up to that moment. This done, he begged Roly for an explanation of his remark about going out.

"Why," said Roly, delightedly, "we're all ready to start for home. Father or Uncle Will can tell you more about the reasons." The boy seemed as eager to go out of the country as he had once been to come into it.

"Yes," said Mr. Bradford, corroboratively, "the leader of the Thirty-six wished to control the whole of the river and its tributary creeks, and instructed Mr. Scott, his second in command, to make us an offer for our claims. We thought the offer a fair one, and as we can not well winter here nor look after our claims another season, we have accepted his price."

"Good!" said David. "I'm glad to hear it."

Uncle Will added that they had made arrangementsto accompany the next pack train of the Thirty-six when it returned to the coast.

"Do you mean that we shall ride out on horses?" asked David, incredulously. The thought of such luxurious travelling after his recent hardships surpassed his wildest dreams.

"No," answered his uncle. "The horses will carry our loads, but it isn't likely we shall ride except in fording the rivers. I understand it's extremely perilous to try to cross the Alsek, the Klaheena, and the Salmon rivers without horses, and several men have been drowned this season in the attempt. Even horses are sometimes swept away. You must know that in summer these streams, fed by the melting ice and snow in the mountains, become swift, muddy torrents of far greater depth and force than in the winter. Streams which a boy could wade last March would now give an elephant a tussle. It's most fortunate that we can have the use of the pack train."

Two days later, on the fifth of August, word came that the horses had arrived at Moran's and would leave there the following evening on their return. Several of the animals were brought up to Alder Creek and loaded with the goods of the Bradfords, who of course had very little to carry out, compared with what they had brought in, since their provisions were nearly exhausted and they were to leave their tools and surplus goodsof all kinds with the Thirty-six. Lucky and Coffee Jack were also to be left behind in the employment of the larger party.

On their way down the river the Bradfords paused at the tent of the scurvy-stricken Tom Moore to leave him some delicacies and wish him a speedy recovery. Here also they exchanged farewells with King and Baldwin.

Not far above Moran's Camp David discovered a gray boulder thickly studded with fossil trilobites, which he would have liked to present to the museum at home, but its great weight made its removal impossible.

Having taken leave of the Thirty-six, and of Lucky and Coffee Jack, who had served them so long and faithfully, the Bradfords followed the horses to the valley below, where they were to spend the night.

The pack train was in charge of a tall, lean, brown-whiskered man known as Bud Beagle, and two assistant packers, one of whom, a big, thick-set, good-natured Missourian, went by the name of Phil. The other, a gray-haired man named Joyce, had once kept a bookstore in one of the Eastern States, and now, after a life of varied fortunes, found himself a packer and cook on the Dalton trail.

Phil made an important find soon after the camping-place was reached. He came upon some bushes loaded with ripe red currants not far below the mouth of thegorge, and, having gathered a heaping panful, brought them to Joyce, who gladly set about making some currant preserve in the most approved style. He boiled the currants over a hot fire, added an extravagant amount of sugar, and at length produced the most delicious mixture imaginable.

As the night was fair, no tents were pitched. The blankets were spread on the grass under the open sky, and the party would have spent a comfortable night had not the weather turned frosty. So cold was it that a skim of ice formed in a pail of water which was left uncovered.

"Gentlemen," said Bud, addressing the elder Bradfords at breakfast, "if you take my advice, you'll start right away as soon as you've finished. It'll take us an hour or two to round up and load the horses, but there's no need for you to wait. It's close on to thirty mile to Dalton's, and it would be late afore you got there if you was to start right now."

Accordingly, the Bradfords were on the march before eight o'clock. They paused for a salmon dinner at Reitz's camp, where the pack train overtook and passed them, then plodded on again. It was the longest day's march in their experience, and without special incident save the meeting with a large herd of cattle and a flock of sheep bound for Dawson.

Near the trading-post a party of mounted police werebuilding a cabin. They hospitably invited the tired four in to supper, treating them to roast mutton, for which the recently passing flock had evidently been laid under contribution. During the meal Mr. Bratnober strolled in and entertained them with an account of a long journey to the headwaters of White River, from which he had just returned. He had been accompanied by Jack Dalton and a tall native called Indian Jack. Their object had been to find copper, and they had been successful. Mr. Bratnober exhibited several rough slabs of the pure metal as big as a man's hand, and said that he had brought back about thirty pounds of it, and could have picked up tons if there had been means to carry it. He naturally would not tell the exact locality where these riches were discovered, but said it was in a region never before explored by white men. They had not remained in the copper district as long as they had wished to do, because of a band of Indians, armed only with bows and arrows, who had made hostile demonstrations.

From the police the Bradfords learned that Dalton's store had been robbed of several thousand dollars a few days before, while Ike Martin was temporarily absent, and that about the same time two prospectors had been held up by highwaymen on the trail and relieved of considerable gold dust. Search was being made for the robbers, who were supposed to be twotough-looking characters who had been seen around the premises, and Ike Martin had started for Pyramid Harbor to put the authorities there on the watch. Ike, imprudently, as the police thought, had taken quite a sum of his own money with him, which he purposed to send to a Seattle bank.

"Have you any idea who the robbers are?" asked Uncle Will of the police captain.

"Yes," replied that officer; "we think they are two of 'Soapy' Smith's gang. The suspicious characters seen here answered the description of two of 'Soapy's' men."

"And who is 'Soapy' Smith?" asked Mr. Bradford, who had heard the name, but could not recall in what connection.

"Why," explained the officer, "he's that chap who organized a gang of toughs at Skagway last winter and terrorized the place. Finally he insulted the wrong man, and received a quieting dose of lead; after which the citizens drove his followers out of town, and they scattered over the various trails."

Uncle Will said nothing, but the boys noticed that he puffed with unwonted vigor on his pipe and seemed to be thinking deeply. He was, indeed, thinking that it would be a serious matter to encounter those two desperadoes in a lonely part of the trail.

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