the future, the boys strolled through the streets, which were knee-deep
with mud.

The curio shops on Front and Seward streets were interesting, and from
the upper end of the latter street they saw a path leading to the Auk
village, whose people claim to own the flats at the mouth of Gold
Creek. On the high ground across the stream is a cemetery containing a
number of curious totemic carvings, hung with offerings to departed
spirits. It would cost a white man his life to disturb any of them.

It was early in the afternoon that the cousins were strolling aimlessly
about and had turned to retrace their steps to the hotel, when Frank
touched the arm of his companion and said, in a low voice:

"Roswell, do you know that a strange man has been following us for the
past hour?"

[Illustration: "ROSWELL, DO YOU KNOW THAT STRANGE MAN HAS BEEN
FOLLOWING US FOR THE PAST HOUR?"]

"No; where is he?"

"On the other side of the street and a little way behind us. Don't look
around just now. I don't fancy his appearance."

A minute later, Roswell managed to gain a good view.

"I don't like his looks as well as he seems to like ours. Shall we wait
for him and ask him his business?"

"No need of that, for he is walking so fast, he will soon be up with
us. Here he comes, as if in a great hurry."

A few minutes later the boys were overtaken by the suspicious stranger.

CHAPTER III.

UP THE LYNN CANAL.

Roswell and Frank were standing in front of one of the curio stores,
studying the interesting exhibits, among which was a pan of Klondike
gold, but they kept watch of the stranger, who slouched up to them and
halted at the side of Frank.

"I say, pards," he said in the gruff, wheedling tones of the
professional tramp, "can't you do something for a chap that's down on
his luck?"

As the lads turned to face him they saw an unclean, tousled man, very
tall, with stooping shoulders, protruding black eyes, spiky hair, and a
generally repellent appearance.

"What's the trouble?" asked Frank, looking into the face that had not
been shaven for several days.

"Had the worst sort of luck; got back from Klondike two days ago with
thirty thousand dollars, and robbed of every cent. I'm dead broke."

"You seem to have had enough to buy whiskey," remarked Roswell, who
had had a whiff of his breath, and placed no faith in his story. The
man looked angrily at them, but restrained himself, in hopes of
receiving help.

"There's