With a great effort we managed to slow our craft before coming into contact with a sharp jutting rock that reared high in the middle of the stream, and then we found that it required all our energies to evade the miniature icebergs that rushed alongside. These floating dangers looked harmless enough, yet they were fully six inches deep in the water, and contact with them would result in much damage to the planks of our dorie. Several times, indeed, we were almost overturned by colliding with unusually large floes.

In another hour we had nearly navigated the extent of Miles's canyon, and only several hundred yards ahead I noticed Major Walsh's flotilla, buffetting the seething waters c.u.mbrously, while the men at the oars strained every muscle to escape the perils that abounded in their course.

"We're not far away from the White Horse, boys," I said to my st.u.r.dy henchmen, who were working away like galley slaves. They ceased their labours for a moment to look round, and at once our vessel swung about and drifted dangerously near the rocky river steeps.

"We maun keep a way on her," said Stewart.

"Let's ken when we're through," said Mac, and their oars cleft the water like the paddle floats of a fast river steamer.

The current was flowing at the rate of ten miles an hour, and to keep a steering way on our unwieldy barge was, as may be understood, no easy matter.

Frantically I swung my paddle and strove my utmost to avert the calamity that every moment seemed to threaten us.

We were rapidly gaining on Major Walsh's outfit. He had four boats in all, three of them being clumsy barges laden entirely with provisions.

These latter were manned by several members of the North-West Mounted Police, who worked their oars from difficult-looking perches among the flour sacks.

The police boats, however, steered a very erratic course, sometimes being carried forward almost on their beam ends. I guessed that the heavily freighted craft had become unmanageable; certainly the steersmen seemed to have no control. Yet I had little time to notice those ahead, for our own "clipper" required every attention.

"Keep her going, boys," I yelled, as I worked my steering paddle with a will, evading rocks, boulders, and ice floes in turn.

Suddenly the white dashing surf of the Rapids came into view, the river narrowed to a fraction of its former width, and over the cataract a jagged sea of the dangerous floes crackled and roared into the abyss beyond.

I saw the Major's first boat fly like an arrow from the bow into the heart of the boiling foam; it careened dangerously on taking the sweep, then righted itself and disappeared into the flying mists.

"Steady, Mac!" I cried, as our craft entered the race. The dense spray almost obscured the great deflecting rock, and we rushed seemingly to destruction.

Then, before my eyes, there appeared an awful spectacle. Faster than I can write the words--one, two, three--each of Major Walsh's three boats reared high in the sleety mist and overturned one after the other as they took the curve.

"Let her go, boys," I bellowed. "Bend to it." The crucial moment had arrived; we were enveloped in foam, and were dashing straight towards the torrent-deflecting bluff. I leaned far back over the stern of our half-submerged boat, and with a mighty stroke of the paddle swung her head round, and we grazed death by barely half a dozen inches.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AFTER THE RAPIDS.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: KLONDIKE-BOUND MINERS AND THEIR OUTFITS ON LAKE LINDERMAN.]

A moment more and we were floating in almost placid waters. Beside us bobbed three smashed boats. Major Walsh stood sorrowfully on sh.o.r.e a.s.sisting dripping men from the water.

"It's all over, boys," I said to my crew; "you can ease off now," and I steered for the beach and lent my aid in the work of rescue.

The half-drowned Canadians were dragged ash.o.r.e gasping and almost senseless, and while we scanned the grim waters anxiously for a trace of one still missing, his body was tossed at our feet by the relentless waves. Soon after, the sand was littered with sacks of flour, and beans, and miscellaneous foodstuffs.

Several camps were in evidence around this melancholy spot, erected by men who had lost their all in the rapids, and were only waiting a chance to return to civilisation. They eagerly accepted the Major's offer to purchase their scanty outfits, and without loss of time that intrepid old Indian fighter had embarked again for the north. To him it was a race with the elements, but the elements won after all, and compelled him to make his winter camp at Big Salmon River, forty miles further north, where we overtook him a few days later.

"It's no use my lads, you can't do it!" he said, on my reiterating my intention of proceeding onwards. "Why, the river's frozen solid from here to St. Michael's."

"Then we'll put skids under the old boat and make her into a sledge,"

quoth Mac, drily, and I hailed the suggestion with encouragement.

We duly arrived at Dawson City after many days and weeks of ceaseless struggle with the elements on that long and terrible icy trail, and our coming was received with rejoicings by the few half-starved miners who at that time peopled the "City." We had proved the feasibility of an over-ice route to Dyea.

THE LAND OF THE THRON-DIUCKS

The Klondike Valley in that winter was the scene of many stirring incidents. Owing to the non-arrival of the Canadian Government Commissioner and his police no law or order prevailed. To make matters worse the utmost bitterness existed between the Canadian and American sections of the community, each of whom claimed the rich gold-bearing territory as being within their country's boundary. Quarrels more or less serious were consequently of every-day occurrence. However, the following incident involves no harrowing description of these fierce skirmishes--though it might have led to a most sanguinary encounter with the _true_ owners of the land.

Accompanied by "Cap." Campbell and "Alf" Mackay, two well-known miners, my party set out on a prospecting expedition into the mountains flanking the upper reaches of the Klondike River. We had one dog, a powerful mastiff, named Dave, which had proved an invaluable companion to me on our earlier prospecting journeys. Previous to this we had been very successful in our quest for the yellow metal, having located three creeks rich in the precious golden sand. But our eagerness seemed likely to cost us dear, for our store of foodstuffs had become wonderfully small, and we were many days' journey from our camp on Skook.u.m Gulch, where were our headquarters.

The return journey proved to be more difficult than we had antic.i.p.ated; the weather had been very severe for the last few days, and the snow on the hillside was hard and dangerously slippery.

"We'll try a short cut over the mountains, boys," said Mackay, as we strove vainly to reach the frozen river far beneath.

The Klondike takes many twists in its erratic course, and it so happened that if we could cross a mountain spur we should strike the trail only a few miles from Eldorado Creek.

"We'll make the attempt," I said, and Mac and Stewart concurred with emphatic e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns. One sleigh carried the possessions of the whole party, and it was tugged along by our combined efforts, including the a.s.sistance of Dave, who struggled in his harness in the leader's position. At last we surmounted the great glacier-capped ridge and gingerly made a trail through a narrow ice-bound gulch issuing from the crystal dome and marking a long line of gigantic ice boulders far into the wooded slopes beyond.

We slid, and clambered, and buffeted with the snow wreaths and intervening ice fields for over an hour, and then the gully led us across a thickly-timbered flat well sheltered from the elements by the surrounding mountains. At this stage we were, to judge by the lay of the country, but a few miles from the main channel; but the afternoon was far advanced and darkness was quickly closing over the valley, so that further progress was rendered difficult. We were looking about for a suitable camping ground when Mac, who had been closely examining the landscape, gave a howl of delight. "Injuns!" he roared, "I see Injun hooses!" Sure enough there appeared, nestling among the drooping pines, a straggling array of Indian huts and several totem poles. Before I could restrain them, my henchmen dropped their sleigh ropes and rushed impetuously towards the supposed settlement, but their moccasined feet stuck deeply in the soft snow under the trees, and, using my snowshoes to good effect, I succeeded in rounding up the doughty pair before they had gone far.

"It's an Indian village," I explained, "and not a circus."

"I ken weel what it is," indignantly howled Mac. "Hiv I no seen Injuns afore? When I wis oot on the pampas o' Sooth America--"

But I listened no further, and Stewart condoled with his comrade in well chosen words of sympathy.

"This is nae country for us, Mac," said he. "A lot o' Injun hooses, wi'--wi' chunks o' caribou hangin' inside, an' we maunna touch them!" He almost wept at the thought.

"Howlin' blazes, boys!" shouted the Captain, "them Injuns'd make ye into mince pies at oncet; ye wur committin' sooicide!"

But Mackay smiled broadly and winked rea.s.suringly at Mac, whereupon that gentleman began to chuckle audibly.

"We've nae floor, an' nae bacon, an' nae beans--nae naething," he said meaningly. "If you have no 'jeckshuns,'" added Mackay, addressing me with much deliberation, "we'll camp a leetle furrer down."

I had no objections whatever. If I had, it might not have mattered much, for my warlike retainers seemed on the verge of mutiny. So we proceeded on our way, cautiously and silently, keeping in the densest shadows, and as far distant from the village as we could conveniently get.

Ten minutes later our tent was fixed and our camp fire blazing brightly; and Stewart, with a lugubrious countenance, busied himself preparing the last of our h.o.a.rded stores. Our fare was certainly meagre and unsatisfying, and unfortunately the keen air had given us extremely healthy appet.i.tes. I am inclined to think, when I recall the matter, that my share, as doled out by Stewart, with many a sigh at its diminutive proportions, was unnecessarily meagre, and purposely served so by that wily individual in order to destroy any conscientious scruples I might have. If that was his purpose it succeeded admirably, for when my humble repast was finished I felt hungrier than ever, and had not the ghost of a scruple left.

"Talkin' about Injun villages," began Mackay, when the cooking utensils had been cleared away, "I've niver seen wan yet that hadn't a winter storehouse of dried salmon and cariboo somewheres handy."

"Ye're a man efter ma ain heart," beamingly interrupted Mac, and Stewart murmured: "Dried cariboo!" and smacked his lips.

"As I was discoursin'," continued Mackay, "them Injuns hiv always got rations hid away in their wigwams."

"Likewise a few tommy-hawks an' an a.s.sortment o' clubs," grimly edged in the Captain.

No one seemed anxious to say anything in a direct sort of way, although the general meaning was plain enough.

"To cut it short, boys," I ventured to remark, "you are in favour of visiting the village to-night?"