SLATE CREEK. 159 



see a moose or a bear, but America is not Africa, 

 and I subsequently found it quite possible to 

 walk for days together in some of the wildest 

 and least-known country in the Yukon territory 

 without seeing a living animal. I reached camp 

 just at nightfall, wet to the skin, but feeling all 

 the better for my walk. 



On the following day, September 1st, the rain 

 had ceased, but the weather still looked rather 

 threatening. We soon made a start in our 

 canoes against a very strong stream, and 

 made fair progress by towing with a long 

 line, and poling. The stream was altogether 

 too strong to make headway against it with 

 the paddles. 



We reached Slate Creek in about a couple 

 of hours, and shortly afterwards found all the 

 mining party imder Mr, Armstrong, a fine 

 young Englishman, camped on the bank of 

 the Macmillan, and busy building a scow, or 

 large flat-bottomed boat, to take them down to 

 Dawson. After a chat with Mr. Armstrong, 

 we all pushed on again, with the exception of 

 Messrs. Osgood and Rungius, who had deter- 



