"I was young an' tough in them days an' liked to buck agin hard goin'. If gold was gettin' scarce where folks was, it was plenty an' free in the lands that folks didn't dare go to. Naturally enough, I begun to think o' the Chilkoot country. "Ever since Georgie Holt had been tortured to death in a Chilkoot Indian camp, prospectors had been leery o' that huntin' ground. But French Pete had heard from a pard o' Juneau's that Dumb MacMillan had got over the Chilkoot an' struck it rich on what he called Dumb Creek, runnin' into the Tanana. He'd come back an' cashed his dust, blowed it in on one wild spree, an' gone over the Pass again. He hadn't never been heard of no more. "Since his second trip, though, the Canadian Government had got a strangle-hold on the Chilkoots an' was makin' 'em behave. It had forced 'em to make peace wi' the Stick Indians o' the "So I quit Treadwell an' French Pete an' got back to Juneau. There, I heard that a bunch o' prospectors led by the Schiefflin Brothers had taken a steamboat, got as far as St. Michael, gone up the Yukon, wintered at Nuklukayet an' found gold all the way. They'd struck good placers on Mynook, Hess an' Shevlin Creeks, but the Schiefflins found the ground always frozen an' terrible hard to work, an' the summer was so short they figured pannin' on the Yukon wouldn't pay. "Think o' that, will you! The Klondyke an' the Eldorado wouldn't pay! "That same summer, we heard that there was new gold strikes on the Lewes an' Big Salmon Rivers, which run into the Upper Yukon. Dumb MacMillan had found payin' color on the Tanana, flowin' into the Middle Yukon. The Schiefflins had located plenty o' placers on the Lower Yukon. "It didn't take much figurin' to guess that there "Early in the spring o' '84, eight of us was ready. We had a sure-enough outfit an' plenty o' grub. We was well fixed for shootin'-irons, too, for we was goin' up into hostile Injun country. "Joe Juneau, who knew a lot about the mountains, tried to head us off, tellin' what happened to Holt an' MacMillan, but we was sot on goin', an' struck out for Dyea along the canal trail. There we headed for the interior. "I've seen some rough goin' in my time, an' I come of a stock o' tough uns, but, I'm tellin' you, that first trip over the Chilkoot Pass was more'n horrible. I dream about it, yet—an' it's over thirty years ago! "From Dyea to Sheep Camp was bad enough goin', half-frozen muskeg (mucky swamp), lyin' under soft snow an' all covered with a tangle o' thorn-vines climbin' over spraggly berry-bushes. There warn't no trail. It was cut your way, an' drag! We didn't have no dogs, but lugged the sleighs ourselves. It's only nine miles as the "An' then the Chilkoot Pass stuck up in front of us, all black rock an' white snow, reachin' to the sky, an' clouds hidin' the top. It seemed like it was a-defyin' of us, well-nigh impossible. "We'd ha' gone back, sure, but we knew two men had climbed it a'ready, Georgie Holt in '72, and Dumb MacMillan, in '80. What they'd done, we reckoned we could do. "Sheer rock, she was, all slick an' icy, to begin with; above that, stretches o' snow-fields on so steep a slope that a false step meant a snow-slide an' good-bye! crevasses in the snow goin' down below all knowin', an' mostly covered over wi' light snow so's you couldn't see 'em; an', near the top, a pile o' loose an' shaky rocks built up like a wall, straight as the side of a house, an', in some spots, leanin' over. That was the Chilkoot Pass! "The cold was cruel; a steady wind, nigh to a blizzard, sucked through the Pass continooal, tearin' a man from his footin.' There was no shelter, an' high up, no fire-wood. "There was no trail, neither! We had to go it, blind. An', up that rock, over them snow-fields, "There was eight of us that started. There was only three when the stuff was on the summit o' the pass! Two had been crushed by fallin' rocks. The other three had all disappeared sudden in a crevasse, what they thought was solid snow givin' down under 'em. Only Red Bill, Bull Evans an' me was left. "Mind, there was no trail an' no guide! Holt had been over years before, but the Indians killed him. Dumb MacMillan went over it twice, an' never was heard of no more. Me an' my pardners was the third, an', as I was sayin', o' the eight that started, only three got to the top." "Yet how many thousands climbed that Pass after gold had been struck on the Klondyke?" queried Owens. The Top of the Chilkoot Pass. The neck to the Klondyke as it appeared in April, 1898, during the height of the stampede. From "The Romance of Modern Mining," by A. Williams. Copyright, 1898, by S.A. Hegg. Pass in the Sierra Nevadas of California. "Thirty thousand an' more, so folks said. "When we reached the top, the trouble wasn't over neither. 'Tother side was rough an' dangerous, all loose rock an' mighty little snow. We loaded the sleighs an' let 'em down by jerks, all three men hangin' on to the drag-ropes. But we made the bottom, safe, an' started off again. No trail, no map, no nothin'! We jest pushed on, blind, three white men in a country o' hostile Injuns huntin' for a river which we didn't even know where it was. "Followin' a small creek an' pannin' now an' agin—though not findin' any color—we came at last to Crater Lake an' then on to Lindeman, an' final, to Lake Bennett. Here, we'd heard before leavin', the Yukon River begun, an' we started to go round the lake, so's to strike the bank o' the river. "It couldn't be done. Muskeg an' thick forest run clear down to the shore o' the lake, an' a b'ar couldn't ha' pushed his way through. Small "There warn't nothin' to be done but build a boat, an' nary one o' the three of us knew the fust durn thing about boat-buildin'. But we put together a kind of a log-raft, that floated, anyway, put the dunnage aboard it, an' drifted down the lake. This was easy goin', for a while. "All of a sudden, a swift current took us, the lake narrowed into a river, an', afore we had a chance to pole our heavy an' clumsy raft to the bank, we was shootin' wi' sickenin' speed down white water. It was Grand Canyon Rapids, a mile long! Half-way through, the raft struck a rock an' went to bits, the logs bustin' free. I grabbed one an' went spinnin' down the rapids. I must ha' hit my head on a snag, for I don't remember no more till I woke up to find myself on the bank, an' Bull Evans leanin' over me. "'What's the worst, Bull?' I asks, as soon as I realizes. "'Red Bill's gone,' he says, 'an' so's most o' the grub. The dunnage is scattered anywheres along a mile or two. We hoofs it from here. No more rafts in mine!' "As it was, bein' afoot, we broke away from what afterwards was the Klondyke Trail, an', instead of striking across Lake Labarge, kep' between it an' Lake Kluane, strikin' some creeks leadin' into the White River. There, at last, after three months on the trail, we panned an' found color. We trailed on, pannin' as we went, cleanin' up pretty fair, an' final, struck some placers on the Stewart River. The Injuns was peaceful an' we could get grub from a half-breed tradin' store near old Fort Selkirk. We wintered there." "That was in '85?" Owens queried. "Winter o' '85 an' spring o' '86." "Then you must have been right on hand for the great strike on Forty-Mile?" "We sure was." "But, man, you should have made a fortune, there!" "I did!" came Jim's laconic answer. "I made a hundred thousand dollars in three months." "What happened to it, then?" "That," said the old prospector, leaning back, and looking at his two hearers, "is a wild an' woolly yarn! Do you want to hear it, or do I go on to the findin' o' that ore you've got in your hand?" "Oh, tell the yarn, Jim!" pleaded Clem, who was less interested in Jim's strike than was the mine-owner. Owens nodded assent. "Pannin' gold," Jim began, "is pretty much the same all over. One minin' camp is a good deal like another, though Forty-Mile was the cleanest an' straightest camp I ever struck. I could spin a good many yarns o' Forty-Mile an' near-by camps, but I'll leave 'em to another time an' tell you how it was I got poor, again, all in a hurry. "With a bunch o' buckskin bags holdin' a hundred thousand dollars in the coarse nuggety gold o' Forty-Mile, I was good an' ready to take the back trail. I thought maybe I'd get back again next spring, for I'd become a sure-enough 'sour-dough' (old-timer of the northern gold- "The more I thought of it, the less I liked the notion o' goin' back over the Chilkoot Pass. Savin' for the first climb, the out trail was worse'n the in. All the rapids'd have to be portaged. "What was more, the news o' the Forty-Mile strike had reached the outside, an' the human buzzards was a-flockin' in. The Canadian authorities held the camps in a tight grip, but the trail was a No-Man's-Land. A sour-dough comin' out from a strike stood a good chance o' bein' plugged for his gold an' no one the wiser. "A few weeks after the Forty-Mile strike, a rich placer had been located at Circle, a hundred miles lower down on the Yukon an' across the Alaskan Boundary jest above where Circle City is now. Nothin' was easier'n to buy a small row-boat an' float down the Yukon to Circle. The rapids wasn't worth speakin' about. At Circle we'd take the river craft runnin' to Fort Yukon, an' then ship on board the steamer for St. Michael, Skagway an' 'Frisco. "We got the boat, bein' willin' to pay whatever fancy price was asked. While she was still tied up at Forty-Mile, one o' the North West Mounted Police come up an' asked us where we was headin'. We told him. He wanted to know how many were goin'. There was my pardner, Bull Evans, me, an' four more. He shakes his head. "'That's about twenty too few,' says he. 'Are you takin' the dust along?' "'Right with us, Johnny,' says we. "'You've got more gold'n you have sense,' he comes back, cheerfully. 'Better wait a month or so. We're goin' to convoy a party through the White Pass to Skagway, takin' the express an' the bank gold, an' you can come along, safe.' "'It's too long a trail for millionaires,' says we. "'A dead millionaire ain't worth much,' he says. 'You'll have your bones picked clean by the crows if you get across the border that a-way. Alaska ain't the Dominion, not by a long shot.' "'Law an' order's as good 'tother side o' the line as it is here!' says Bull. "'Have it your own way! I'll send the patrol boat with you as far as the border. I can't do no more.' "We didn't want the patrol, but he sent it, any way, an' we started out. "'Last chance!' he yells, when the border's reached, 'better come back!' "'We ain't quitters!' Bull shouts back, an' on we go, six of us, an' close on to half a million dollars in dust among the lot. Every man had a rifle, a six-shooter, an' plenty o' ammunition. All was old-timers an' quick on the shoot. We reckoned we could take care of ourselves, good an' plenty. Any way, we weren't goin' to land anywheres until we struck Circle, so there wouldn't be no danger. "We hadn't got more'n ten miles the other side o' the line, jest beyond the little minin' camp of Eagle, when of a sudden: "A bullet strikes the boat, right at the water line, an' she begins to leak. "It was pretty shootin', an' every man reaches for his gun. There's a curl o' smoke driftin' up from a pile o' rock, but no one shoots, knowin' well the marksman's under cover. We trims the boat, to keep the hole out o' water, and then: "'Spat! Spat!' "One on each side. We stuffs some bits o' rag in the holes, but the boat begins to fill. One side o' the river's sheer rock, an' there ain't no landin' there. Cussin' free, an' every man wi' his rifle ready, we beaches the boat on the other shore an' gets out, ready for the scrap. "Then some one starts to talk, over our heads, hidden in the rocks: "'Gents, I'm sure sorry to stop your trip! There's twenty of us, an' each has his man covered. It ain't no use for you to make trouble. Them as is reasonable can leave their bags o' dust an' their pop-guns on the beach, an' walk off fifty paces to the left. Them as wants to show their shootin' can wait jest two minutes by the watch, an' the fun'll begin, us havin' the pick o' the shots an' bein' under cover. The cards is "We all shoots back, o' course, more to relieve our feelin's'n anything else, for we knows this new-style road-agent has dodged back to cover. "Me an' four others, we don't hesitate. We lays our bags o' dust an' our guns on the beach an' toddles off, as directed. Then I looks back an' sees Bull standin' there, alone. "He's a durn fool an' I knows it. But he's my pardner, is Bull! "I goes back an' tries to persuade him to eat crow. But Bull's stubborn as a mule an' don't budge. I ain't a-goin' to leave him. So we both stands there. "The road-agent has been takin' this in, an' presently he pipes up: "'Very pretty, gents. Pardners is pardners and that's doin' it handsome. Put up your hands an' we won't shoot.' "For answer, Bull snaps his rifle to his shoulder an' fires. "A volley rings out, an' Bull drops dead, a dozen bullets through him. I wasn't two yards away, but not a shot touched me. "Then this road-agent, a tall thin galoot, "'It was a dirty bit o' shootin'!' says I, indignant. "'You've no cause to complain,' says he, 'nothin' hit you! I like your spunk in standin' by your pardner. He seems to ha' been a he-man, too, even if he was a fool. Had he any folks?' "'A baby girl back in Montana,' I tells him. "'I'm not robbin' babies,' he says to that. 'She gets my share o' the loot. I give my word. Do you know the address?' "I reaches down into Bull's coat, takes a letter from it what he'd written to his sister, what was lookin' after the kid, an' hands this bandit the envelope. He reads it, nods an' puts it in his pocket." "Did he ever send the money?" suddenly interrupted Owens. "He did. I heard, years after, that the sister received thirty thousand dollars in cash, in a registered letter, sent from Skagway, an' in the envelope a slip o' paper 'From the Chief o' Circle.'" "What happened next, Jim?" queried Clem, excitedly. "'What's the next turn?' I asks the chief. "'I don't do things in a small way,' he says. 'Your nerve's good. For bein' willin' to stand by your pardner, when the rest run like rabbits. I'll leave you five thousand in dust, an' see you get back to the border. Unless you want to join our band?' "'I don't!' I answers, snappy like. "But he was as good as his word. He weighs out an' hands over the dust, an' two of the gang takes me back to the line. There they gives me back my shootin'-irons, though, o' course without any ammunition. Next day I'm back in Forty-Mile." "And the other four men?" queried Owens. "Two joined the gang, an' later, started to get funny on the Canadian side. A Vigilance committee strung 'em up. The other two turned up at Circle City and I never heard no more about 'em. "I stayed at Forty-Mile that winter, buildin' fires at night on the frozen dirt to thaw it, an', next day, shovelin' an' haulin' it up to the top o' my little shaft on the windlass I'd made myself. The pile o' pay dirt had to be left till the spring thaws for cleanin' up. "Ten years I stayed inside, goin' from one placer on the Yukon to another, makin' a livin', an' that's about all. Now an' again, when I gets a bit ahead, I sends a bag o' dust to Bull's little gal. "In '98, I joins the rush to Nome, an' there's a roarin' wild town! But luck ain't runnin' my way. Like the rest, I starts to wash the sand o' the sea-beach, the last place a prospector'd ever look. I clean up thirty a day, maybe, jest enough to keep goin'. I'm no richer'n no poorer'n I was ten years afore, but I got Bull's little gal to work for, an' that keeps me pluggin'. "Then, sudden, I gets a letter from the gal, enclosin' a note she's received. It's short: "'Rich pay gravel here.' It's signed with a "I figures this is the Road-Agent o' Circle, an' he's dyin' an' wants to make restitootion. It's my dooty to Bull's little gal to go an' find the place. I've jest about money enough to go there, an' the lay is right. There's a bank of pay gravel more'n two miles long, an' a hundred feet deep, maybe more. It's frozen, summer'n' winter, an' too hard for thawin' with wood fires." Jim halted for emphasis and looked keenly at the mine-owner. "I was thawin' it out wi' coal, when I was there," he said, slowly, "soft, smudgy coal, brown an' sticky-like." "What!" cried Owens in amazement. "Lignite coal?" "Not a mile away from the gravel." "But why, man—?" Owens stopped. "A bunch o' Russian seal-poachers come up an' chased me off, sayin' it was Russian territory. I believed 'em, at first. I didn't say nothin' about the gold, but made believe I was huntin' coal. But that lignite, as you call it, was so sure low-grade that they jest laughed at me. "It ain't in Russian territory. It's in the United States, I've found out that much. But Owens looked at him thoughtfully. "It's a wild and woolly yarn, all right," he said, "and it sounds like a story from a book, with the hold-up, and the girl and the idea of restitution, and the treasure-map and all the rest of it. You haven't any proof?" "Nothin' but what I've told you—an' the map. My pardner's got to take my say-so." "You say you wrote frequently to Bull Evans' daughter?" "Once a season—sometimes twice. Whenever I could get some money through." "She will have kept those letters, certainly," the mine-owner mused, "and the payments through the Express Company will be easy to trace. Where does the girl live?" "In Pittsburgh, now, with her aunt." "If I guarantee to advance two hundred thousand, when satisfied that your story is straight, will you produce the map and come along, yourself?" "I'll trust you more'n you're willin' to trust me," he said, and took a thin slip of paper from the buckskin tube out of which he had shaken the gold dust the day before. "Here's the map. It's an island due north o' the Diomede Islands in the Behring Sea. The Eskimos call it Chuklook. There's quartz gold on Ingalook, too. But mind, one-third o' what you pay for the claim belongs to Bull's little gal." "Agreed!" declared Owens. "You trust me an' I'll trust you. The letters an' the express records, being as you say, I'll go in." "Clem bein' a pardner!" Jim insisted. "Clem being a partner, sure!" |