saw a wash-stand, bowl, pitcher, and
mirror. There was something deeply touching to me in all this. They
are so poor, their lives are so bare of comforts, that the
consecration of these articles to the dead seemed a greater sacrifice
than we, who count ourselves civilized, would make. Each chair, or
table, or coat, or pair of shoes, costs many skins. The set of
furniture meant many hard journeys in the cold, long days of
trailing, trapping, and packing. The clothing had a high money value,
yet it remained undisturbed. I saw one day a woman and two young
girls halt to look timidly in at the window of a newly erected tomb,
but only for a moment; and then, in a panic of fear and awe, they
hurried away.

The days which followed were cold and gloomy, quite in keeping with
the grim tales of the trail. Bodies of horses and mules, drowned in
the attempt to cross the Skeena, were reported passing the wharf at
the post. The wife of a retired Indian agent, who claimed to have
been over the route many years ago, was interviewed by my partner.
After saying that it was a terrible trail, she sententiously ended
with these words, "Gentlemen, you may consider yourselves
explorers."

I halted a very intelligent Indian who came riding by our camp. "How
far to Teslin Lake?" I asked.

He mused. "Maybe so forty days, maybe so thirty days. Me think forty
days."

"Good feed? Hy-u muck-a-muck?"

He looked at me in silence and his face grew a little graver. "Ha--lo
muck-a-muck (no feed). Long time no glass. Hy-yu stick (woods). Hy-u
river--all day swim."

Turning to Burton, I said, "Here we get at the truth of it. This man
has no reason for lying. We need another horse, and we need fifty
pounds more flour."

One by one the outfits behind us came dropping down into Hazleton in
long trains of weary horses, some of them in very bad condition. Many
of the goldseekers determined to "quit." They sold their horses as
best they could to the Indians (who were glad to buy them), and hired
canoes to take them to the coast, intent to catch one of the steamers
which ply to and fro between Skagway and Seattle.

But one by one, with tinkling bells and sharp outcry of drivers,
other outfits passed us, cheerily calling: "Good luck! See you
later," all bound for the "gold belt." Gloomy skies continued to fill
the imaginative ones with forebodings, and all day they could be seen
in groups about the village discussing ways and means. Quarrels broke
ou