d said "Good-by and good
luck" and marched away in single file.

Just a week later I went round to see if any news of them had
returned to their bunk house. I found their names on the register.
They had failed. One of them set forth their condition of purse and
mind by writing: "Dave Walters, Boone, Iowa. Busted and going home."

THE GOLDSEEKERS

I saw these dreamers of dreams go by,
I trod in their footsteps a space;
Each marched with his eyes on the sky,
Each passed with a light on his face.

They came from the hopeless and sad,
They faced the future and gold;
Some the tooth of want's wolf had made mad,
And some at the forge had grown old.

Behind them these serfs of the tool
The rags of their service had flung;
No longer of fortune the fool,
This word from each bearded lip rung:

"Once more I'm a man, I am free!
No man is my master, I say;
To-morrow I fail, it may be--
No matter, I'm freeman to-day."

They go to a toil that is sure,
To despair and hunger and cold;
Their sickness no warning can cure,
They are mad with a longing for gold.

The light will fade from each eye,
The smile from each face;
They will curse the impassible sky,
And the earth when the snow torrents race.

Some will sink by the way and be laid
In the frost of the desolate earth;
And some will return to a maid,
Empty of hand as at birth.

_But this out of all will remain,_
_They have lived and have tossed;_
_So much in the game will be gain,_
_Though the gold of the dice has been lost._

CHAPTER XXI

THE RUSH TO ATLIN LAKE

It took me longer to get under way, for I had determined to take at
least thirty days' provisions for myself and a newspaper man who
joined me here. Our supplies, together with tent, tools, and
clothing, made a considerable outfit. However, in a few days we were
ready to move, and when I again took my place at the head of a little
pack train it seemed quite in the natural order of things.

We left late in the day with intent to camp at the little village of
White Pass, which was the end of the wagon road and some twelve miles
away. We moved out of town along a road lined with refuse,
camp-bottoms, ruined cabins, tin cans, and broken bottles,--all the
unsightly debris of the rush of May and June. A part of the way had
been corduroyed, for which I was exceeding