like claws, their doubled knees seemed about to pierce their trouser
legs.

"Yes," said the taller man, "the mosquitoes nearly eat us up. We can
only sleep in the middle of the day, or from about two o'clock in the
morning till sunrise. We walk late in the evening--till nine or
ten--and then sit in the smoke till it gets cold enough to drive away
the mosquitoes. Then we try to sleep. But the trouble is, when it is
cold enough to keep them off, it's too cold for us to sleep."

"What did you do during the late rains?" I inquired.

"Oh, we kept moving most of the time. At night we camped under a fir
tree by the trail and dried off. The mosquitoes didn't bother us so
much then. We were wet nearly all the time."

I tried to get at his point of view, his justification for such
senseless action, but could only discover a sort of blind belief
that something would help him pull through. He had gone to the
Caribou mines to find work, and, failing, had pushed on toward
Hazleton with a dim hope of working his way to Teslin Lake and to the
Klondike. He started with forty pounds of provisions and three or
four dollars in his pocket. He was now dead broke, and his provisions
almost gone.

Meanwhile, the smaller man made no sign of hearing a word. He ate and
ate, till my friend looked at me with a comical wink. We fed him
staples--beans, graham bread, and coffee--and he slowly but surely
reached the bottom of every dish. He did not fill up, he simply
"wiped out" the cooked food. The tall man was not far behind him.

As he talked, I imagined the life they had led. At first the trail
was good, and they were able to make twenty miles each day. The
weather was dry and warm, and sleeping was not impossible. They
camped close beside the trail when they grew tired--I had seen and
recognized their camping-places all along. But the rains came on, and
they were forced to walk all day through the wet shrubs with the
water dripping from their ragged garments. They camped at night
beneath the firs (for the ground is always dry under a fir), where a
fire is easily built. There they hung over the flame, drying their
clothing and their rapidly weakening shoes. The mosquitoes swarmed
upon them bloodily in the shelter and warmth of the trees, for they
had no netting or tent. Their meals were composed of tea, a few
hastily stewed beans, and a poor quality of sticky camp bread. Their
sleep was broken and fitful. They were either too hot or too cold