lodging for one night
with the stewardess of the small steamer which would carry us as far as
Miles Canyon or the Camp, Canyon City. From there we were obliged to
walk five miles over the trail. It was midsummer, and the woods through
which we passed were green. Wild flowers, grasses and moss carpeted our
path which lay along the eastern bank of the great gorge called Miles
Canyon, only at times winding away too far for the roar of its rushing
waters to reach our ears. No sound of civilization came to us, and no
life was to be seen unless a crow chanced to fly overhead in search of
some morsel of food. Large forest trees there were none. Tall, straight
saplings of poplar, spruce and pine pointed their slender fingers
heavenward, and seemed proudly to say:

"See what fortitude we have to plant ourselves in this lonely Northland
with our roots and sap ice-bound most of the year. Do you not admire
us?" And we did admire wonderingly. Then, again, nearing the banks of
Miles Canyon we forged our way on up hill and down, across wet spots,
over boulders and logs, listening to the roar of the mighty torrent
dashing between towering, many-colored walls of rock, where the volume
of water one hundred feet in width with a current of fifteen miles an
hour, and a distance of five-eighths of a mile rushes insistently
onward, as it has, no doubt, done for ages past. Then at last widening,
this torrent is no longer confined by precipitous cliffs but between
sparsely wooded banks, and now passes under the name of "White Horse
Rapids," from so strangely resembling white horses as the waters are
dashed over and about the huge boulders in mid-stream. Here many of the
earlier argonauts found watery graves as they journeyed in small boats
or rafts down the streams to the Klondyke in their mad haste to reach
the newly discovered gold fields.

After leaving White Horse Rapids we traveled for days down the river. My
little stateroom next the galley or kitchen of the steamer was
frequently like an oven, so great was the heat from the big cooking
range. The room contained nothing but two berths, made up with blankets
and upon wire springs, and the door did not boast of a lock of any
description. Upon application to the purser for a chair I received a
camp stool. Luckily I had brushes, combs, soap and towels in my bag, for
none of these things were furnished with the stateroom. In the stern of
the boat there was a small room where tin wash basins