en loading chickens, pigs, vegetables,
furniture, boxes of dry-goods, stoves, and every other conceivable
domestic utensil into big square barges, which were rigged with tall
strong masts bearing most primitive sails. It was a busy scene, but
of course very quiet as compared with the activity of May, June, and
July.

These barges appealed to me very strongly. They were in some cases
floating homes, a combination of mover's wagon and river boat. Many
of them contained women and children, with accompanying cats and
canary birds. In every face was a look of exultant faith in the
venture. They were bound for Dawson City. The men for Atlin were
setting forth in rowboats, or were waiting for the little steamers
which had begun to ply between Bennett City and the new gold fields.

I set my little tent, which was about as big as a dog kennel, and
crawled into it early, in order to be shielded from the winds, which
grew keen as sword blades as the sun sank behind the western
mountains. The sky was like November, and I wondered where Burton was
encamped. I would have given a great deal to have had him with me on
this trip.

THE COAST RANGE OF ALASKA

The wind roars up from the angry sea
With a message of warning and haste to me.
It bids me go where the asters blow,
And the sun-flower waves in the sunset glow.
From the granite mountains the glaciers crawl,
In snow-white spray the waters fall.
The bay is white with the crested waves,
And ever the sea wind ramps and raves.

I hate this cold, bleak northern land,
I fear its snow-flecked harborless strand--
I fly to the south as a homing dove,
Back to the land of corn I love.
And never again shall I set my feet
Where the snow and the sea and the mountains meet.

CHAPTER XXII

ATLIN LAKE AND THE GOLD FIELDS

There is nothing drearier than camping on the edge of civilization
like this, where one is surrounded by ill smells, invaded by streams
of foul dust, and deprived of wood and clear water. I was exceedingly
eager to get away, especially as the wind continued cold and very
searching. It was a long dull day of waiting.

At last the boat came in and we trooped aboard--a queer mixture of
men and bundles. The boat itself was a mere scow with an upright
engine in the centre and a stern-wheel tacked on the outside. There
were no staterooms, of course, and almost no bunks. The interior
resembled a l