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 m.u.f.fler.

"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 pa.s.ses 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 pa.s.sed 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 canon-like pa.s.sages. Then beyond the Little Salmon the craft and its hopeful pa.s.sengers floated smoothly with the current for a distance of one hundred and twenty miles, when the boys were startled to see four giant b.u.t.tes 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 pa.s.s 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."

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 pa.s.sage 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 ash.o.r.e 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed, 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."

CHAPTER XII.