CHAPTER I

THE FORTUNE-SEEKERS

THOSE WHO JOIN THE STAMPEDE to a new goldfield may generally be divided into two classes, the tenderfoot and the old-timer; otherwise, the novice and the experienced prospector.

The novice joins the stampede because he catches the “fever"—dreams dreams. The old-timer goes because the diggings he had last worked in proved of little good.

Were the sea-dogs of old—Drake, Raleigh, or Frobisher—born into the world to-day, their spirit would surely have impelled them to the mining camp, to seek fortune in the mountain fastnesses, and to wager years of effort on the chance of wresting from Nature her treasure stores.

On the steamship Aleutian, as she lay in the dock at Vancouver, British Columbia, one day in the March of 1898, there were many tenderfeet and a few old-timers. Amongst the experienced was John Berwick. About him surged the steamship’s host of passengers, waving their arms, and yelling answers to the cheer that went up from the great crowd upon the dock-side.

He and his fellows were bound for the Klondike goldfields. Before them lay adventures, toil, and danger; the adventurous will ever draw the tributes of goodwill from the multitude staying at home.

The air was chill and damp; and the increased speed of the steamer as she passed from the harbour accentuated the effect of the breeze that blew against her, so that Berwick felt cold. He shivered, and half turned towards the door across the promenade; but the wavelets, flying by in their half-blue, half-grey ripples, fascinated him, and he lingered. Suddenly he was aroused—a hand was on his shoulder, and he heard a familiar voice say,

“Hullo, old chum!”

John swung round. He looked into the smiling face of his old-time mining-mate, George Bruce.

“George, by all the gods!” he cried. “Are you bound for the diggings, too?”

“Yes, and mighty glad to find an old mate. I told you, when you left Coolgardie, that you wouldn’t stand civilization long, but had no idea of running across you in this rush.”

The two turned and entered the saloon together. Neither mentioned it, but each knew that in the adventures before them their efforts and their fortunes would be joined. In the language of the Australian, they were mates, or, in the vernacular of their new surroundings, “partners.”

George Bruce was tall and athletic, with golden hair. He was a jovial soul, blessed with a body of activity. He would go for the hardest work in a cheery way, and during the social hours of evening was the best of company. He was as liberal with his money and means as he was of good-nature.

The saloon was crowded with men, drifting about, staring at all they met, or talking in groups. On the lower deck dogs could be heard barking. The ship was tense with an atmosphere of excitement.

Berwick and his “pardner” went by a companion-way to the lower deck, where they found a passage-way to the fore-part of the ship, and so came to the presence of the canine choir. Big dogs and little dogs, of every breed and colour, were there. All grades of canine society were represented, from the big and well-fed St. Bernard to the mongrel snared in the slums. Dogs were a safe investment in the towns on the Pacific Coast of North America, and unscrupulous humanity was actively at work capturing them and getting them there.

The portion of the deck to which the dogs were relegated was also set apart for the baggage, which was piled in heaps in the middle. A dozen men were diving into kit-bags, extracting necessary articles or packing them away. The inspiration of the last few minutes in Vancouver had prompted many to purchase odds and ends which had been forgotten in the general outfitting.

A tall, angular man was attending to three dogs of an uncommon breed. Two of them were practically of the same size, which was that of an ordinary collie; the third was not so large. All had the same markings, black with tan about the face and neck, and a show of tan about the legs, but the hair on the two larger was longer than on the third. This couple also had bushy tails which curled over their backs, while the tail of the smaller dog was only a stump. John recognized them from their wolfish look as belonging to a Northern breed. George and he became interested.

After watching the dogs for a minute, John approached one of them and patted him, remarking to his owner, “Your dogs don’t seem over-affectionate.”

“No.”

“They don’t make much noise.”

“These dogs never bark.”

“Why is that?”

“Don’t know; suppose it is because they have wolf in them; but they howl when the spirit moves them.”

“Often?”

“Only when they are alone, and then generally at night.”

The conversation was lapsing when the stranger turned and gazed at the mountains showing through the mist along the coast.

“Those mountains look kind o’ cold,” said he. “You fellows going inside?”

“Yes,” answered John.

“Come from Australia?” The stranger had evidently been sizing them up. “There are a whole lot going inside from Australia, I hear.”

“The only man I know on board is George Bruce here, my mate; but there is such a crowd about—there may be others!”

“The passes are already crowded—a whole lot of these fellows don’t know what they are up against.” The man shook his head with an aspect of melancholy.

“Been in the Klondike before?” Berwick asked him.

“Yes, five years ago. I came down from the River in ‘96, just before the news of Carmack’s discovery reached Forty Mile, or else I would have been in on the best of it. The fellows sent me out word right after, but I didn’t think the pay streak would hold, so didn’t go in last year. But this spring I got so dead sick of civilization I just had to get away, although I don’t think there’s much chance of my striking it rich.”

“Your dogs are Yukon dogs?”

“Yes, Malamoots. I brought them out with me just to kind of keep me from getting homesick, but they worked the other way. I took them back on the home ranch, and every time they set up a howl on winter nights I began to see the old Northern Lights sky-shooting overhead, and smell the bean-pot boiling, and I’d feel like getting down a hole to bed-rock somewhere and trying a pan of dirt. Besides, the folks outside, I don’t like their ways; they ask a man so many fool questions. They all want to know why I ain’t a millionaire. You see I’ve been up to Bonanza Creek where Carmack made his discovery, and where the rich claims have been discovered, a dozen times. We used to call it Rabbit Creek, and there were always a half-dozen moose or so mooching round, and we used to go shooting then.”

“Didn’t you ever try a dish of gravel?” asked George, for the first time entering the conversation.

The stranger looked at him, and evidently did not understand. John cleared the situation by saying, “I think what you call a pan we call a dish in Australia.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve panned it often enough; but could not get more than a few colours to the pan of dirt. Fellows writing me say they go down through twenty feet of black muck before they strike the gravel and bed-rock. I was not looking for any proposition like that. How Carmack found out the gold was underneath I don’t know.”

The two friends bade their new acquaintance good evening, and returned to the saloon. All the seats were occupied, and there were yet groups of men standing about, but the excitement was less. They passed on to the smoking-room, at the fore-part of the ship. This was crowded, and the air thick. A large man in a white sweater was holding forth. He was stout almost to corpulency, and extended his fist excitedly in the ardour of his argument.

“I tell you, gentlemen,” he was saying, “I come from the State of I-dee-ho. We have big mountains in I-dee-ho, with lots of snow on them in winter. I’ve lived among these mountains for twenty years, and I know what snow is; and you bet your life if there is one man who will get into the Yukon it is John Muggsley! Big Jack they called me back home. It’s a big man who is needed on a trip like this, a fellow who can put a couple of hundred pounds on his back and walk off with it as if it were nothing. I tell you this is not a proposition for any tenderfoot to tackle!”

“Well,” said another man, “I don’t want any packing so far as I am concerned. I have two cows with me, both good milkers, and I will load my stuff on their backs and drive them over the pass. I can have their milk to drink, and when I get to Lake Bennett I’ll kill them and sell their meat.”

John and George had seen those cows. Poor cows! Poor man! So it was with a large portion of the passengers. With the excitement and the thirst for gold the most quixotic ideas had been developed. What the cows were to live upon en route had not yet been considered! Such is the haste with which an idea is acted upon when the gold-fever has...