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all been traded even by the shrewd district agent who had come north with the steamer to see after this particular portion of the territory of his Company, always so prolific in good furs.

HUSKY FLEET—FORT McPHERSON HUSKY FLEET—FORT McPHERSON

Men joked and chaffed each other here and there across the narrow strip of water. Dogs howled each time the whistle blast rang out. A few enthusiasts on the top of the bank wasted precious ammunition in a salute. A few cronies drank a parting stirrup cup out of their scant remaining alcoholic stores. Yonder the Eskimos now began to man their whale-boats for their long voyage to the Arctic Sea. The women were packing up their own supplies now, herding the dogs together, pulling the kayaks up on the decks of the sailing-schooners. The great event of the year was coming to its close and camp was breaking. Now the head of the brigade, this unit farthest north, must begin its long and laborious passage southward once more against the current. As it had brought north such store as was possible of bulky goods, now it carried back, tight packed in its hold, the bales of the precious fur, so much less bulky than the goods which had been brought north, and so far more valuable.

The old trader, gray, grizzled, and taciturn, who had done his Company the service of accumulating all this store of fur, stood leaning against the beam of the great fur-press which but now had been busy in baling the precious white-fox fur, the mink and marten, of this great and solitary country of the North. He would not again see a civilized face until that time in the following year, if he still were living then. He made no comment, nor did the swarthy men of his immediate command who stood about him, grim and taciturn, and disdaining to show the emotion of a salute to the passing crew of the Mackenzie River.

But at last the conclusion of all these partings came. All the government men and Company men who were going out went on board ship. The bell jingled under the hand of the captain in his pilot-house above. The strong-armed breeds hauled in the gang-plank, and with a parting shrill salute the steamer began to swing her nose into the current of the Peel.

Majestically she turned about to pick up the current for her brief run down that stream to the great river which she was now to ascend. The boys on the bank plied their cameras as she swung midstream, and worked them yet further as the Eskimo whale-boats fell in her wake.

By and by the last cheering ceased to be heard. A blank silence fell upon all those remaining on the bank. The three young lads looked from one to the other, looked again at the silent face of the tall and sun-bronzed man who was to lead them out of this country now. A sudden melancholy had fallen upon them all. The silence, the mystery of the great North, seemed now to envelop them. They felt strangely alone—indeed, if truth were told, strangely sad and helpless. Home—how very far away it seemed! John poked a swift elbow into Jesse’s side, for it seemed to him he had caught just a suspicion of a tear in the corner of that young traveler’s eye.

And now, late in what should have been the evening of the Arctic day, there arose, as if expressive of the thought in the minds of all, that strangest and most mournful sound that comes to the ears of man—the united howling of the dogs of the Far North.

There may have been two or three hundred of them in all, perhaps more, in the Loucheux village and the remainder of the Eskimo encampment, but all of them in unison, if not in accord, raised their voices in a tremulous wail which fairly made the blood run cold.

It was the voice of the far-off, mysterious, and unconquered North!

XII THE RAT PORTAGE

Before our young adventurers now lay the most dangerous part of their entire journey in the northern wilderness—that famous Rat Portage over the Rockies, at which, twenty years earlier, so many parties bound for the Klondike met disaster. Our young friends had no guides to lead them through this unknown country, any more than had the first Klondikers in the gold stampede which came down the Mackenzie and undertook to get across to the Yukon. No map of that region existed, or at least not in the knowledge of any of our party. They were, therefore, as helpless as any explorers ever were in any portion of the world, and were about to venture into a country as wild as any upon the North American continent.

It was no wonder, then, that their leader, himself a wise and cautious man and well versed in all the expedients of outdoor life, hesitated and pondered, as, standing upon the high crest of Fort McPherson boat landing, he looked out to the low, dull slopes of the Rockies, far ahead. He had heard all the stories about this risky undertaking, and had been cautioned repeatedly by the old trader at Fort McPherson against endeavoring to get through with no companions but these young boys. He knew that his supplies would be no more than sufficient, and that there was no place to get further supplies. Above all, he pondered over the dissimilarity of opinions expressed about the distances and difficulties of the proposed route across the Rockies. Some said it was a hundred miles to the summit, others said seventy-five, others a hundred and forty. Some said it would take a week to get to the top, others two weeks, others three, and yet others said it could not be done at all. Some said there was one lake at the portage on the summit, others said there were five. No one could give any clear idea of the country that lay out yonder beyond the dull, brown tundra.

It was a mysterious land, potent with difficulties and possibly alive with dangers. Uncle Dick loved these young companions of his beyond all price, and he knew his own responsibility in undertaking to lead them through. At times he regretted the whole journey as a mad enterprise which never ought to have been taken on. But at length, like any born leader, he pitted the difficulties against the privileges, made his decision; and, having made it, adhered to it.

“We’ll start, boys,” said he, “and start to-morrow.”

Since, therefore, these young travelers did make this dangerous journey which had proved impossible for so many older voyageurs, it may be well to allow Rob to tell in his own fashion the story of their crossing of the Rockies on the old Rat Portage. Rob kept his notes from day to day during the remainder of their stay at Fort McPherson.

Sunday, July 13th.—Cloudy and overcast. Lucky we got our pictures of the Midnight Sun—this is about the last chance. We have been living at the Mounted Police barracks. The old trader keeps to his own house. Uncle Dick says he was to get us our supplies. We have mended the canoe we brought down on the steamboat. Not very big for four of us. Uncle Dick says he has got two Loucheux Indian boys, Johnny and Willy, to meet us at the mouth of the Rat River and help us to track up that river to the top. Uncle Dick seems uneasy. We told him not to bother about us. The independent trader with a scow of furs is going to try to get across. We ought to beat them over.

Wednesday, July 16th.—Such fuss and fooling around nobody ever saw. But we’re on our way with at least some supplies. Glad we brought a shot-gun and a fishing-rod. Off at 4.15. At 7.30 reached a creek coming into the Husky River from a chain of lakes. Never saw so many fish in my life as there were of the ‘connies.’ We caught plenty for a day or so. Mosquitoes bad in camp. Rain.

Friday, July 18th.—Late start, 10.30. At 1.30 made the mouth of the Rat and picked up the two Indians. This famous stream is a deep, narrow creek. Mosquitoes the worst I ever saw. Ate lunch in headnets. Have to write with gloves on. Current sluggish. We still can paddle up-stream. It is at least seventy-five miles, possibly a hundred, to the top.

“At 11.15 thought we were near Destruction City, the old Klondike camp where so many died. Some women wintered here. Must have been an awful bunch of tenderfeet. We are maybe ten to fifteen miles above the mouth of the Rat. Shores sandy and covered with willows. Cooked a pot of beans. We have a few beans, a little tea, some dried fruit, a little flour, and some side-meat for grease. Not much more. Fish are said to be plenty, also plenty of ptarmigan and rabbits farther up. Pretty tired to-night. Have done maybe twenty miles.

Saturday, July 19th.—Current stiffer. Passed a creek coming from Black Mountains. Shores began to change in the afternoon. Tundra coming down to banks. Began to see rocks on shore—glad to see them after so much mud and willow flats. At 4 p.m. made Destruction City—probably twenty-five miles above the mouth of the Rat. Going slower than we thought, as we hoped to make this yesterday. Caught some big trout, very fine to eat. They take the fly splendidly. At 5 p.m. we laid aside the paddles and had to begin to track. The Indians are patient now, and very useful. Tracking is beastly hard work. You put a collar around your breast and shoulder. We had to walk in the water. Uncle Dick and the Indians and I took turns. John steered pretty well. All got our feet and legs wet a hundred times. Jesse went along shore most of the way. The canoe rode light, and we made pretty good time.

Sunday, July 20th.—Mosquitoes still with us. Rain lets up. We have been sleeping pretty wet, but don’t mind. Rerigged our tracking-line. Got some pictures. Started at 10.30 and traveled nearly five hours to foot of a bad rapid above a deep pool. Camped on a beach. Made a big fire to dry our clothes. We are wet all the time, all of us. Jesse shot three rabbits. He hunts while we track the boats. We don’t let him get out of sight very far. I saw one lynx to-day. Astonishing how little game we have been seeing on this whole trip in this big wild country. Saw an abandoned Klondike camp. They say they are scattered through all these woods here. Sometimes they have found skeletons since. A boy was lost in here and found dead. Traces of the big Klondike migration now getting scarce. Saw some iron on the beach, and ax marks on trees.

Monday, July 21st.—Heavy going. Hard strain on all of us. Think this would try the best sort of man if he had heavy supplies along in his boat. We have to hurry or we won’t have enough to eat. Lunch at 2 p.m. Saw the mountains far ahead. A great sight. They seem not more than twenty-five miles. Indian boys very useful, quiet, and patient. One says he paid twenty-five dollars for his hat at the trading-post. It was worth about two dollars in the States. Saw some blazed trees. This was written on one, ‘Colin’s rifle in tent here 25th.’ Don’t know what this meant, but suppose a party had split and some gone ahead, and left word. Gum had grown all over

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