My pack straps were tied together 
across my chest with a handkerchief 
to relieve the strain on the shoulders 
and it was impossible to quickly undo 
i the knot. Up the side of the’ hill I 
scrambled, pack and all, and as I 
reached the top of the rise I saw the bear 
on a little ridge scarcely fifty yards 
away. Panting and trembling,’I knelt 
and snapped a shot at the disappearing 
t. animal. There was the dull "thuck” 
that a bullet makes on striking flesh, 
the bear winced but disappeared. Tear¬ 
ing frantically at the knot 1 got the pack 
off and followed. The bear was no¬ 
where in sight, no tracks showed in the 
soft, springy moss and there was no 
blood. Ahead was a clump of timber, 
but I did not relish the idea of pur¬ 
suing a wounded bear into timber with 
an unknown gun, for my weapon was a 
30-40 Winchester model 1895; small¬ 
bore high velocity ammunition had been 
1 used but little on game and I was doubt¬ 
ful about the killing power of so small 
a projectile. Here, at least, I displayed 
some caution and concluded that my 
hide was as valuable to me as the bear's 
pelt was to him. Deep, rushing mountain 
torrents were between me and the pass 
that I must cross and up these I worked 
my way until they were small enough 
to cross successfully. 
j| At midnight one could easily see to 
(travel, so I reversed the usual hours of 
sleeping—traveling at night and curl¬ 
ing up in the sun for a nap in the dav- 
|ime. 
On the pass the snow was packed 
hard, but the sun 
i'liad softened it so 
that at every step 
I broke through 
he crust. At times 
l crawled on my 
lands and knees, 
->r rather on my 
extended forearms 
ind knees. Crawl- 
ng thus, my arms 
requently broke 
hrough, plunging 
jaiy face into the 
i iard snow. Two 
uindred, some- 
imes one hundred 
eet, were as far 
is I could go with- 
>ut resting. After 
j rossing the sum- 
nit, traveling 
; lown-hill was not 
j iearly so hard and 
he snow line was 
oon passed, but here I encountered 
nigger-heads.” No matter whether I 
raveled the bottom of the gulch or the 
ide hill those tiresome impediments to 
rogress persisted. 
1 he numbers on the claim stakes 
howed that I was about two miles from 
: folliday’s and for the first and only 
ime in my life I left my rifle and 
truggled forward. 
Never have I seen a man more sur- 
; rised than Holliday when he answered 
iy knock on the door. “Good Lord, 
Ud, how did you get here? Even the 
Indians won’t cross the divide until the 
age 239 
snow is nearly all gone.” Candidly, had 
I known the difficulty of the trip 1 
wouldn't have attempted it, but 1 didn’t 
tell Holliday so. 
Next morning Holliday asked me 
where I had left my rifle. I told him 
the number of the claim stake and added 
that I would take a walk and get it 
before dinner time. 
‘‘I’ve got to go up that way and set a 
claim stake,” said George, taking an axe 
Mlllllilllllllimillllllllllllllllli ........ 
Those who know only the complex 
civilization of great cities with the age- 
old customs of man, have little realiza¬ 
tion of the vast cleanliness of a primeval 
country or of the inspiration which ob¬ 
tained in the wide spaces of the wilder¬ 
ness. When Mr. Ball went down the 
Yukon in his canoe, Alaska was just 
responding to the touch of mankind and 
its wide horizons were delightful to con¬ 
template. From such a country comes 
the gleam that quickens the soul and 
creates the longing for more abundant 
life. 
as a pretext. Good old boy—he lied 
cheerfully and went up for the sole pur¬ 
pose of getting my gun, for he realized 
that I needed a rest after that trip over 
the pass. 
W hen George returned he had my 
rifle and a big porcupine that he had 
knocked on the head with his axe on 
the way up. 
Me talked about the days of the 
Klondyke and the prospects of cheaper 
labor until nearly dinner time. Then 
conversation lagged. I was wondering 
if George intended to eat that porcupine, 
but did not wish to make any such sug¬ 
gestion to my host. Finally, I could 
stand the suspense no longer and asked, 
“George, what’s the best way to cook a 
porcupine ?” 
“By gad,” said George, “I was wait¬ 
ing for you to say something. I was 
afraid you wouldn’t eat it—but how do 
you skin the blamed thing?” 
“Leave it to me,” I replied, “you do 
the cooking ” 
We decided on a stew, as the animal 
was a big one and we expected it would 
be tough. On the contrary, it was very 
tender. Roasted, it would have heen 
tasty, but stewed it was rather insipid. 
A FTER dinner George outlined plans 
• r * for a “stampede.” In many of the 
neighboring creeks gold could be found, 
hut not in paying quantities at the prices 
then obtaining for labor. In a year or 
two perhaps, labor would be cheaper, 
then these creeks could he profitably 
worked. Up a side golch on one of the 
creeks he had found sluice boxes, care¬ 
fully hidden from view. Evidence of 
work on the creeks had been partially 
obliterated. There was gold, no doubt 
of it, and being in U. S. territory we 
could stake a claim on each of the 
creeks, to be prospected at our leisure. 
So we set out on our "stampede,” each 
with a light pack, but no blankets. 
George took a small sheet of canvas and 
an axe and I carried my rifle. 
e crossed the divide between Dome 
Creek and a tributary of the south fork 
of O Brien, which we named Liberty 
Creek and staked claims on this and on 
other streams. One of these, flowing 
into the north fork of O Brien, we 
christened King Solomon Creek. Two 
or three years later 1 was surprised and 
amused at seeing these names on the 
L. S. topographical maps of this section. 
If labor had dropped to the figure we 
hoped for, we 
would have be¬ 
come millionaires, 
but—well, if we 
had become mil¬ 
lionaires this story 
would not have 
been written. 
Our grub was 
g e 11 i n g low. I 
shot a few ptarmi¬ 
gan, some of which 
contained eggs 
that were a great 
treat. It was two 
years since George 
had tasted an egg 
and a year since I 
had sampled the 
product of the 
gulls a n d ducks 
collected by the In¬ 
dians along the 
coast of Norton 
Sound. \Y e even 
climbed trees and examined birds’ nests 
in the hope of finding eggs. Hunger 
has little conscience. But there came a 
time when there was left but a handful 
of flour and a few cooked beans. I made 
the mess into a cake, scraped and ate the 
raw dough from the sides of the pan, 
cooked the cake, divided it with George 
and started for “home” about twelve 
miles away. 
A tall spruce tree felled by George 
barely spanned O’Brien Creek and on 
this we crossed, although the branches 
submerged in the swift current caused 
(Continued on page 283) 
Breakup of the ice on the Yukon River near Circle City 
