ON THE YUKON.
Jeff Graham looked inquiringly at Tim McCabe, who nodded his head by
way of reply. At the same time he said something to Hardman, and all
three rose to their feet. Then the poles were plied with an effect that
speedily drove the raft against the bank, where Tim sprang ashore and
secured it. Brave and reckless as was the fellow, he had no intention
of trying to take the boat through the exceedingly dangerous White
Horse Rapids, but he could not refuse the chance for a little amusement
at the expense of his young friends.
In truth, no one should ever attempt to take a boat through White Horse
Rapids. The best course, perhaps, is to let it drift down the rapids,
guided by a rope one hundred and fifty feet in length. If it passes
through without material injury, the craft is still at command below.
Another plan is to portage. At this writing there are roller-ways on
the western side, over which the boats can be rolled with a windlass to
help pull them to the top of the hill. In lining a craft, it must be
done on the right-hand side. Three miles farther down comes the Box
Cañon, one hundred yards in length and fifty feet wide, with a chute of
terrific velocity. Repeated attempts have been made by reckless miners
to take a boat through, but it is much the same as trying to shoot the
rapids below Niagara, and the place has well earned its title of "The
Miners' Grave." Still, the feat has been performed in safety.
Progress was so effectually barred at White Horse that our friends gave
up their raft as of no further use. It was certain to be shattered, and
where there was so much timber it was comparatively easy to build
another, with which to make the remaining two hundred and twenty miles,
particularly as there was no need of constructing a double-decker, for
the rough voyaging was at an end.
The goods were, therefore, packed upon the Yukon sleds, and then the
raft set adrift. It was never seen again, though an occasional stray
log afterward observed bobbing in the current below the rapids may have
formed a part of the structure that had served the travellers so well.
There was enough snow for the sleds, but the work was exhausting, and
was not completed until late in the afternoon, when the tent was set up
and camp made.
By the close of the following day the raft was finished. It contained
enough pine lumber to float a much heavier load than formed its burden,
but, as we have stated, it lacked the double deck, since the necessity
for one no longer existed.
The raft was no more than fairly completed when a storm that had been
threatening broke upon the party. Since it was expected, and there was
no saying how long it would last, the tent was set up and secured in
place. Considerable fuel had been gathered, and every preparation was
made for a prolonged stay, though it need not be said that each one
hoped it would prove otherwise. In a country where for four-fifths of
the days the sun does not show itself, such weather must be expected,
and, on the whole, our friends counted themselves fortunate that they
had been able to make such good progress.
The tent was hardly in position, and all within, huddling around the
stove, in which Tim had just started a fire, when they were startled by
a hail:
"Halloa, the house!"
The four hurried outside, where a striking sight met them. Eight men,
each with a heavy pack strapped over his shoulders, and bending over
with his load, thickly clad, but with their faces, so far as they could
be seen through the wrappings, wet and red, had halted in front of the
tent, which they scrutinized with wonder.
"Are you going to begin digging here?" called one of the men, whose
eyes, nose, and mouth were all that was visible behind his muffler.
"Not while the storm lasts," replied Tim. "If we had room, we'd ask ye
to come inside and enj'y yoursilves till the weather clears. At any
rate, we'll be glad to give ye something warm to ate and drink."
"Oh, that's it!" exclaimed another of the men. "You're afraid of the
storm, are you?"
"We're not much afraid, but we ain't in love with the same. Won't ye
come in--that is, one or two at a time?"
"Thanks for your invitation, but we haven't the time to spare. We're
afeared they'll get all the gold in the Klondike country if we don't
hurry. You're foolish to loiter along the road like this."
"We're willing to lose a bit of the goold for sake of the comfort. If
ye are bound to go on, we wish ye good luck."
"The same to yourselves," the plucky and hopeful miners called as they
plodded forward.
For two dreary days the party was storm-stayed in camp.
"Here," said Jeff Graham, when making ready to resume their voyage, "we
leave our Yukon sleds."
"Shall we not need them on our return?" asked Roswell.
"We should if we returned by this route, but I wouldn't work my way
against these streams and through the passes again for all the gold in
the Klondike country. We shall take the steamer down the Yukon to St.
Michael's, and so on to Seattle."
"That is a long voyage," suggested Hardman.
"Yes, four thousand miles; but it will be easy enough for us when we
are on a steamer."
"The Yukon is closed for eight months or more each year."
"We don't intend to go down it when it's closed, for I didn't bring
skates along, and I don't know how to skate, anyway."
"You do not expect to stay long in the Klondike country?" was the
inquiring remark of Hardman, who showed little interest in the
intentions of their leader.
"That depends; we shall come back in two months, or six, or a year,
according as to how rich we strike it."
"S'pose you don't strike it at all."
Jeff shrugged his shoulders.
"We'll make a good try for it. If we slip up altogether, these folks I
have brought with me won't be any worse off than before; but I don't
intend to slip up--that ain't what I came into this part of the world
for."
"No, I reckon few people come for that," was the comment of Hardman,
who seemed to be in a cheerful mood again.
Nothing could have offered a stronger contrast to their previous rough
experience than that which now came to them. Fourteen miles down the
river brought them to Lake Labarge, where they had nothing to do but to
sit down and float with the current, using the poles occasionally to
keep the raft in the best position. Thirty-one miles brought them to
Lewis River, down which they passed to the Hootalinqua; then to the Big
Salmon, and forty-five miles farther to the Little Salmon, the current
running five miles an hour, and much swifter in the narrow cañon-like
passages. Then beyond the Little Salmon the craft and its hopeful
passengers floated smoothly with the current for a distance of one
hundred and twenty miles, when the boys were startled to see four giant
buttes of stone towering above the water, which rushed violently among
them.
"What place is that?" asked Frank, who with his cousin surveyed the
immense towers with deep interest.
"Five-Finger Rapids," was the reply.
"They look dangerous."
"So they be, unless ye happens to know which two to pass between; now,
which would ye selict as a guess?"
Roswell and Frank studied them awhile, and the latter answered:
"It doesn't seem to me that it makes much difference which one you
take."
"Ah, but it makes a mighty difference. We should have big trouble if we
neglicted to folly the right side of the river."
[Illustration: TIM AND JEFF LIT THEIR PIPES; HARDMAN SAT APART.]
Jeff and Hardman were already working the raft in that direction, and
Tim now gave his aid. It looked perilous, but, knowing the right
course, the craft made the passage without any mishap. All settled down
to enjoy the smooth sailing that was before them once more. Tim and
Jeff lit their pipes, Hardman sat apart, while the boys were together
near the front of the raft. The weather was clearer than it had been
for several days, and much more moderate. May was well advanced, and
the short, hot summer was at hand. If all went well, they would reach
the gold country at the right season, and as they neared the goal the
spirits of all rose, and a longing to get forward manifested itself in
many ways. They waited until night had fairly come before they went
ashore and encamped, and they were off again at daybreak, despite the
uncannily early hour at which it comes in that part of the world.
Six miles down the Lewis River took them to the Rink Rapids, through
which they passed without difficulty. Just beyond are the ruins of Fort
Selkirk, where the Pelly and Lewis rivers unite. Tim McCabe studied the
mouth of the Pelly, as it poured into the Lewis, and soon as the point
was fairly passed, he turned to his friends, his round face aglow.
"I offer me congratulations," he said, doffing his cap and bowing low.
"On what?" asked Frank Mansley.
"The stream over which ye are now floating takes the name of the Yukon,
and doesn't give up the same till it tumbles into the Pacific siveral
miles to the west of us."
"Several miles!" repeated Frank; "it must be three thousand."
"Something like that, I belave. The worst part of our journey is behind
us."
"How far are we from Juneau?"
"To be exact, which I loikes to be, it is five hundred and tin miles."