th good effect.

When Eagle City was reached I telegraphed my brother to meet me at the
steamer's dock in Dawson, and my message was sent by one of Uncle Sam's
boys in blue in charge of the office.

The town had grown considerably in the two years since I visited it, and
now boasted new government buildings, officer's quarters, and a
Presbyterian church, besides new stores and shops.

After Cudahy and Forty Mile, came Dawson, and we steamed up to the
city's dock in the morning fog, and were met by the usual multitude of
people, I having been seventeen days out from Golovin Bay. There, among
others, waited my brother and his little son, and my joy at meeting them
was great. Landing, it was only a walk of a few minutes to my kind old
father, and my brother's wife was not far away.

I was now practically at home, for home is where our dear ones are, and
surroundings are matters of small moment.

Three happy weeks followed, I went everywhere and noted well the
improvements in the camp since I last saw it. It was now a cleaner town
every way, with better order, good roads and bridges, new government
buildings, post-office and fine large schoolhouse. New frame churches
replaced the old log ones in most cases. There was the governor's new
palatial residence which would never be graced by the presence of its
mistress as she and her babe had gone down to death a few weeks before
in the Islander disaster in Lynn Canal; and there was the same steady
stream of gold from the wondrous Klondyke Creeks, which I was now
determined to visit.

[Illustration: SKAGWAY RIVER, FROM THE TRAIN.]

One bright, warm day, taking the hand of the small boy of the family, my
sister and I started for Bonanza Creek. We were bound for the house of a
friend who had invited us, and we would remain over night, as the
distance was five miles. My kodak and three big red apples weighed
little in our hands, and we turned toward the Klondyke River in high
spirits.

For a mile the road was bordered with log cabins on the hillside, with
the famous little river flowing on the other. We crossed the fine
Ogilvie Bridge, and soon found ourselves upon Bonanza Creek, the stream
which, with the Eldorado, had given to the world perhaps the major part
of golden Klondyke treasure up to this date. Following the trail by a
short cut we crossed shaky foot bridges, rested upon logs along the
trail, and picked our way over boggy spots until our limbs were weary.

Ever