Yukon. It is night-time, it is November,
and it is very cold--sixty-five below. She is soft. He is soft. The
cold bites. They get tired. They cry under their breaths to themselves.
By and by I say better we stop and make camp. But they say that they
will go on. Three times I say better to make camp and rest, but each
time they say they will go on. After that I say nothing. All the time,
day after day, is it that way. They are very soft. They get stiff and
sore. They do not understand moccasins, and their feet hurt very much.
They limp, they stagger like drunken people, they cry under their
breaths; and all the time they say, 'On! on! We will go on!'

"They are like crazy people. All the time do they go on, and on. Why do
they go on? I do not know. Only do they go on. What are they after? I
do not know. They are not after gold. There is no stampede. Besides,
they spend plenty of money. But I ask questions no more. I, too, go on
and on, because I am strong on the trail and because I am greatly paid.

"We make Circle City. That for which they look is not there. I think
now that we will rest, and rest the dogs. But we do not rest, not for
one day do we rest. 'Come,' says the woman to the man, 'let us go on.'
And we go on. We leave the Yukon. We cross the divide to the west and
swing down into the Tanana Country. There are new diggings there. But
that for which they look is not there, and we take the back trail to
Circle City.

"It is a hard journey. December is most gone. The days are short. It
is very cold. One morning it is seventy below zero. 'Better that we
don't travel to-day,' I say, 'else will the frost be unwarmed in the
breathing and bite all the edges of our lungs. After that we will have
bad cough, and maybe next spring will come pneumonia.' But they are
_checha-quo_. They do not understand the trail. They are like dead
people they are so tired, but they say, 'Let us go on.' We go on. The
frost bites their lungs, and they get the dry cough. They cough till the
tears run down their cheeks. When bacon is frying they must run away
from the fire and cough half an hour in the snow. They freeze their
cheeks a little bit, so that the skin turns black and is very sore. Also,
the man freezes his thumb till the end is like to come off, and he must
wear a large thumb on his mitten to keep it warm. And sometimes, when
the frost bites hard and the thumb is very cold, he must