382 LIFE ON A YUKON TRAIL 



concealing thin ice. The ice varied from a few inches to four 

 feet in thickness. At short intervals steel-pointed picket rods 

 were thrust through the snow in advance of our heavy sledges, 

 and the distance was covered in safety. Many outfits were lost 

 through the ice in this stretch and six cases of death by drown- 

 ing came to our notice. 



Our outfit was well in advance of the bulk of the movement 

 up the Stikine. Some light dog-teams had passed up the river 

 a few days before, and the snow compacted by these sleds would 

 ordinarily sustain the weight of our horses. The trail was a suc- 

 cession of heavy ruts and furrows; it was impossible for the 

 horses to step to the snow on either side of the beaten track. 

 The crust yielded even to the light cayuses or Indian ponies, 

 and they floundered helplessly until lifted bodily back again to the 

 trail. We struggled toilsomely through morasses of soft snow, 

 tugging and heaving on the heavy sledges, while the teamsters 

 urged on the discouraged horses. One Sunday, after making 

 derricks of ourselves for half the day in our efforts to get the 

 horses through heavy drifts, we hit upon the plan of drawing the 

 beasts to a place of security on the sledges. The horses were 

 accordingly detached, the loaded sledge drawn ahead, and the 

 baggage removed. We then returned, and binding a worn-out 

 horse securely to the top of the sledge, every man in the party 

 laid hold of the tow-rope and tugged the beast up the river to 

 where the stores had been deposited. Most of the men who had. 

 come thus far with horses had gone into camp on the river's 

 bank in order to save the lives of their beasts. Little pools of 

 blood along the trail marked the points where tired animals, cut 

 by the crust, had been halted for a rest. The gaunt and wasted 

 carcasses of dead horses and dogs by the wayside told the story 

 of overwork and of exhausted food supplies. 



On Tuesday. March 28, after three weeks of travel on the 

 river, we rounded a bend of the stream and beheld Glenora. 

 From Fort Wrangell to this point no settled human habitation 

 had met the eye. Now we perceived that Callbreath's log-trad- 

 ing cabin and a dozen Indian shacks perched squat-like on a low 

 margin of river bank formed the settlement that made so brave 

 a showing upon the maps of that region. Two months later the 

 Indian shacks had been turned into hotels and 15 saloons were 

 doing a lively business. A local weekly newspaper was being 

 hawked through the streets at 25 cents a copy. Outfits were 



